


royally screwed

by angryjane



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Barista Simon, Bisexual Simon Snow, Canonical Character Death, Drunk Texting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, Flirty Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Fluff and Humor, Gay Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Happy, Happy Ending, If You Squint - Freeform, Lesbian Agatha Wellbelove, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Meet-Cute, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Minor Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Modern Royalty, Mutual Pining, No Angst, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Simon Snow, Ok I lied, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paparazzi, Past Child Abuse, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Friendship, Penelope Bunce is a Good Friend, Pining Simon Snow, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Royalty, Simon Snow Loves Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Sorry Not Sorry, Texting, The Mage (Simon Snow) is an Asshole, The Mage sucks, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This Is STUPID, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Agatha Wellbelove Friendship, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Loves Simon Snow, Underage Drinking, Weddings, absolutely none i swear, agatha is a good frined, and yes this is like my third coffeeshop au what the fuck are you gonna do about it?, bamf agatha wellbelove, deniall wedding, fiona gives no fucks, he hits simon with his car lmfao, he's just... from omaha, hehe, just a little, lady ruth, like this si all sunshine and rainbows, like v vague, malcolm grimm is just trying his best at this point, mentions of fiona/nico and fiona/ebb, not detailed, prince baz, she is his bodyguard, shepard from omaha - Freeform, shepard is there too, simon is just a dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryjane/pseuds/angryjane
Summary: “Snow,” He stage-whispers. There’s only a few inches between their faces; Simon Snow smells like cinnamon and sweat and strawberry shampoo. There’s a freckle on the tip of his nose that Baz hadn’t noticed before. It’s faint, and vaguely heart-shaped. He’d like to kiss it.“Yeah?” It could be a trick of the light, or Baz’s hyperactive imagination, or maybe just stupid hope, but he’d swear it on his mother’s grave: Simon glances at his lips as he says it.“Did you know,” (Baz can’t say he’s been this close to anyone except Penny or Wellbelove, and it was very different then. His heart didn’t beat this fast and his breath didn’t come this short and he most certainly wasn’t fighting the urge to kiss either of them.) “That I’m the gayest man this side of California?”He can hear the hitch in Simon’s voice, and then a wide grin replaces the anxiety on the boy’s face. “Shit, really? Which side? That’s like, directly across or something.”-------After drunk texting the Crown Prince, Simon gets caught up in a fake relationship with Baz. While dodging the paparazzi, their friendship develops, and Simon struggles to keep his secrets.(only rated T for language; I can't write summaries)
Relationships: Dev & Niall & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Fiona Pitch & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Malcolm Grimm & Fiona Pitch, Malcolm Grimm & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Nicodemus Petty/Fiona Pitch, Penelope Bunce & Shepard, Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow & Agatha Wellbelove, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Shepard & Simon Snow & Agatha Wellbelove, Penelope Bunce & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Shepard & Simon Snow, Simon Snow & Agatha Wellbelove, The Mage & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow & Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 101
Kudos: 267





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heliotrope_Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliotrope_Moon/gifts).



> ok i originally wrote this for [@heliptrope_moon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliotrope_Moon/pseuds/Heliotrope_Moon) 's awesome [fanfic showcase](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24734461/chapters/59792974) but it took too long so i sent in smth different instead. the showcase is awesome and you should 100% check it out

_(000)-420-####_

_[11:32 pm] pennt can u cmoe get me_

**[11:34 pm] er, who is this?**

_[11:35 pm] stop fcuking wih me penny i need soemoen to come get me_

**[11:36 pm] I think you have the wrong number.**

_[11:37 pm] is peeny_

**[11:38 pm] I’m not any ‘Penny’. Sorry.**

**[11:39 pm] Are you drunk? Call a cab.**

_[11:41 pm] m not drukn jut tispy_

**[11:42 pm]** **Sure you aren’t.**

**[11:42 pm] Good luck.**

_[12:19 am] pelenope cmoe onnnnn_

_[12:21 am] shpread ditched me agian it’s clod_

**[12:23 am] Still not any Penelope here.**

_[12:24 am] who is this thne_

**[12:24 am] Not Penelope.**

_[12:25 am] oh rihgt penny is in amercia_

_[12:26 am] amierca_

_[12:26 am] amecra_

_[12:27 am] amireca_

**[12:27 am] Don’t hurt yourself, christ.**

**[12:28 am] You’re really drunk, huh?**

_[12:29 am] maybe a lil bit_

**[12:29 am] A little bit?**

_[12:30 am] ok a lotta bit_

**[12:30 am] Well fuck.**

**[12:31 am] Where are you right now?**

Strictly speaking, he’s not supposed to be doing that. He’s not supposed to talk to anyone his father doesn’t want him to, not supposed to answer strangers’ texts, not supposed to respond to gibberish. He should be asleep by now, really. He has a four hour meeting at seven, and it was already past midnight.

_[12:33 am] king’s pub on frist aveneu_

It’s late. He should ignore it. He should turn his phone off and bury himself further in the sheets-- he should say something nasty and let that be the end of it. 

But even as he’s hammering out a rude response-- “call a fucking cab and leave me the fuck alone, loser”-- he can picture it: someone, maybe a young girl, waiting for her friend Penelope to come pick her up, thin coat pulled tighter to her chest in the cold. And maybe there’s some seedy character lurking in the background, waiting for the inebriated girl to slip up. “Penelope” is in America; her friend isn’t coming. The seedy character slips out of the shadows, clamps a hand around her thin shoulders and drags her away. Maybe she tries to shout, and he hits her; Baz is deleting the text even as he curses himself. 

**[12:36 am] A car is coming to get you. The license plate is P1TCH61. The driver is going to be a blonde woman.**

_[12:37 am] r u kidnappign me strangre_

Baz cracks a smile at that. 

**[12:38 am] Obviously.**

_[12:39 am] nice. blonds arent my type tho_

**[12:39 am] Noted.**

He closes the contact, pulling his bodyguard’s contact up instead. He fucking hates having to have a ‘bodyguard’-- she’s more like an advisor-slash-coordinator. And good friend, of course. 

**[12:40 am] Wellbelove I need to ask you a favor.**

_[12:41 am] go the fuck to sleep basil_

**[12:41 am] it’s serious**

_[12:42 am] it’s almost one in the morning what could u possible need, /ur highness/_

**[12:43 am] [SCREENSHOT ATTACHED]**

**[12:43 am] [SCREENSHOT ATTACHED]**

**[12:43 am] [SCREENSHOT ATTACHED]**

_[12:44 am] for fuck’s sake_

**[12:44 am] thank you Agatha**

_[12:45 am] shut the actual fuck up_

**[12:45 am] love you too.**

_[12:46 am] go the fuck to sleep or i’m going to knock you the fuck out_

**[12:46 am]...Kinky.**

_[12:46 am] basil! I swear to god_

**[12:47 am] goodnight.**

  
  


\-----------------

Not a young, helpless girl. 

Not in the slightest. 

“He hasn’t woken up… at all?” 

Agatha shakes her head. They’re in the hallway outside the smallest of the guest bedrooms, farthest from his father’s chambers. It’s nearly two, the sun slithering through tightly-drawn blinds and dripping through the floorboards. Even with the curtains pulled taut, there’s no mistaking the snoring figure on the bed. 

No a damsel in distress at all-- a blocky, golden boy with moles like stars and a tawny mass of curls spilling across the satin pillowcase. He’s bloody glorious.

“We should probably get him out of here.” Agatha is leaning over his shoulder; she smells like peonies and sweat. “Your father wouldn’t be too happy to see him.”

“I know that,” Baz hisses, “What do we do with him?”

She snorts, “‘Do with him’? Jesus, Basil, you sound like some kind of mafia lord.” Shrugging, she blows a strand of hair out of her face. “We wake him up and tell him to get out.”

“Right.”

“Right.” Raising an eyebrow, she waves a hand at him, “So wake him up.”

“I… don’t want to.”

“The fuck you mean, you don’t want to?”

“You do it.”

“Basil, I’m your advisor, not your _maid_ , you spoiled-”

Someone clears their throat. In an instant, Agatha is in front of Baz, standing up straight and looking something fierce. The boy flinches back, curls bouncing with the movement.

“H-… hi.” He looks like absolute shit. “Where… the fuck am I?” He looks beyond lost, eyes darting around the room. His sweatshirt is crumpled in places and there’s a line on his cheek from the pillows, just below a coffee-colored mole. 

There’s a smirk growing on Baz’s face as the boy goes on, “Did I do something stupid last night and sleep with one of you? Both of you? I’m-- I, uh. I don’t think I meant to do that. I was drunk, um-” he coughs. “I’m… sorry.”

Grinning, Baz shoves his way out from behind Agatha, who huffs, a hand falling to her hip. There’s a taser there, strapped to her belt, and the blond boy’s eyes are drawn to it. He gulps. “You didn’t sleep with either of us,” Basil informs the boy haughtily, and watches as his shoulders sag in relief, pausing a moment before he goes on, “Yet.”

“ _Basil-”_ Agatha sounds affronted, but Baz knows her well enough to hear the amusement disguised there.

“Er. I- Um.” Stuttering and flushing, the stranger tugs as a strand of hair near his ear boyishly. It’s distractingly adorable, Baz muses. 

“Ignore him. Royalty has made him a stuck-up brat.” Sidestepping him, Agatha shoots a well-aimed elbow into his ribs, then turns to offer the same arm to the boy. “I’ll drive you home.” 

“… Royalty?” He asks, taking the extended arm. 

“Welcome to Pitch Palace, dude.” She begins leading him away, turning to shoot Baz a dirty look behind her back. Huffing, he folds his arms across his chest and watches their backs disappear down the hall. 

It’s a shame, really: Baz would have liked to get to know him. Between his father’s protectiveness and his responsibilities as prince, not like he has much opportunity to make friends-- excluding Agatha and Penelope, Baz’s only friends are his cousin and said cousin’s fiancé. Royalty could be an awfully lonely life, his mother had told him when he was little. ´

And besides that, the boy was cute, in a messy sort of way. Scrunched nose, freckles, a blush up to his eyes. His _eyes_. An ordinary sort of blue, but pretty in their own right: their expressiveness, Baz would say if pressed. He starts down the hallway in the opposite direction Agatha led the boy.

It’s not like it could really lead anywhere; his father was dead set on Baz marrying another royal, probably from the Bunce province. Although Penelope Bunce was a fierce woman and a good friend, Baz was, for obvious reasons, not into her. Obvious reasons being his persistent queerness. The two of them had discussed this before: if they were to be married after all, they’d have an open marriage of sorts. There are worse things in life, but there are also better ones. Like freckled boys, for instance. 


	2. Chapter 2

“So, he was cute.”

Baz starts when Agatha walks in, bow screeching out a lost note. When he turns to look at her, she’s leaning in the doorway, watching him with a look he doesn’t quite like. 

“What.” 

She shrugs in faux nonchalance. “Nothing. It’s just… Maybe not so strong next time. You scared him away.”

“I scared him away?” Baz scoffs, “If you don’t recall, you  _ took _ him away.” 

“Because you were freaking him out, Basil. As your wingwoman-”

“Since when are you my-”

“Since I’m your best friend, dipshit.” She huffs, pushing her hair behind her ears and shaking her head. Agatha usually wears her hair in a high, long ponytail, with strands framing her face-- Baz told her he liked it that way when they were in sixth year and she’s kept it since. “It’s unspoken that I’m your wingwoman, and you’re mine.”

Baz raises an eyebrow. 

“Wingman, whatever.” 

Scowling, he sets his instrument down. “You were going to  _ tase _ him, Wellbelove.” 

“Last name? You’re really upset, huh?” She whistles, dropping onto his bed. 

Honestly, fuck her for knowing him that well. He doesn’t deign a response, dragging his case towards him instead. 

“Oh, come on Basil. Don’t be mad. I had to take him home-- your father would find him.”

Even though he knows she’s right, she doesn't have to say it. “I know, but shut up. Let me be petty, Agatha.” 

She laughs, lying back onto his sheets. “When are you not?”

Tucking his violin back into place, he pointedly ignores her. When they were in fourth year, she had been in love with her roommate, and Baz had teased her relentlessly-- he supposes this is payback of sorts. 

“Whatever,” Rolling onto her side to face him, she sighs, “Penny’s flight landed this morning. She’s coming over in an hour.”

Baz grins. His nights with the two of them are his favorite, when they can pretend they’re just young adults hanging out rather than two heirs and a bodyguard. Penny had one too, but she hated her. Trixie. Four years ago, Bunce got fed up and told her to stop following her, and she disappeared. Her parents had tried hiring another, but Penelope opted to take self defense lessons instead. 

He curls his lip at Wellbelove, in an effort to at least pretend he’s not pleased. She can see right through it. Agatha, of course, knows about Bunce’s and his  _ arrangement _ for the future. He came out to the both of them when they were nine, and again for real at sixteen. (His third-grade self  _marveled_ at the concept of marrying a boy. Agatha was repulsed; not because he wanted to marry a boy, but with the concept of  _ boys _ in general.) 

“Why’d you put that away? I wanted to hear something.” 

“No,” Baz huffs, “I’m bored of it.” 

The rest of the evening passes as it usually does; the two of them watching shitty tv until Bunce comes and makes them put on something “actually worthwhile,” as she puts it. Agatha is always the first one to fall asleep. Penelope roasts her for it relentlessly. (“What if someone sniped Basil through the window, and you were too busy snoring to even notice?” “What if there’s been a bomb planted, and you weren’t awake to throw yourself over him in time?” “What if a bird flies in and shits all over his head, and he has an allergic reaction and you can’t stop it?” “What if-”)

“Basil,” Bunce says now, curled into Agatha’s side, “How’d the meeting this morning go?” The light of the television ( _ the Perks of Being a Wallflower _ ) reflects on her glasses and makes her look alien. 

“Fine. Father is still insisting we should go to war with the Salisburys, but his advisors won’t let him.” 

Penelope snorts. “Why is he so adamant about this? They didn’t even do anything to piss him off.”

He shrugs, turning towards her a little. It feels like they always have their best talks from either side of a sleeping Agatha. “He’s got a personal vendetta against Mage. And he thinks we should strike while they’re still preoccupied. With the missing heir thing and all.” 

Her laugh this time is humorless. “Sorry sod. Takes guts, running away from home, I’ll give him that.”

Baz grins at her. “I heard he joined a circus.”

“No, last I heard he was a prostitute now.” 

“I thought he was a world-class arsonist though?”

“Silly goose, he’s a plastic surgeon in Miami.” She tosses a cheeto at him, clucking her tongue disdainfully. 

“Apologies. I guess I’m not up to date.” 

No one  _ actually _ knows where he went. Or what he looks like-- he fled when he was twelve, surely he looks different now. There weren't all that many pictures of him before anyway; Mage kept him more or less a secret up until a year before he disappeared. A lot of people think he just killed him (the same people who think he killed his wife two decades ago in a mad grab for power). 

Mage isn’t very popular, even with his own people. It’s easy to see why, too. Baz has only met him a handful of times, but each time he came across as an angry, arrogant man, prone to violent outbursts. It’s insane there hasn’t been a coup yet-- even old lady Salisbury, bed-ridden with cancer, would be a better fit for the job.

Once, when Agatha and him had stolen a bottle of wine from the kitchens after dark and holed up in the highest tower, she’d asked him what he really thought about it all. About the Mage’s Heir, as he was called: a modern myth or legend, depending on how you looked at it. Daphne told tales of his adventures to the younger kids at night. 

“I think he’s out there,” Baz had confessed drunkenly, words slurred, “I think the rumors are bullshit though.”

“Yeah?” Wellbelove had been a lot less tipsy than he was.

“Yeah,” He affirmed, looking out at the moat, “‘f it were me,” Hiccup, “I’d wanna live the quietest life possible.”

She’d put a hand on his knee and squeezed, and then she’d punched him in the arm. They didn’t talk about it again.

Penelope is starting to doze off when Baz’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes it out, trying his best not to wake the other two. 

_ (000)-420-#### _

_ [1:04 am] this is prince pitch right _

Baz can’t help the little sound that chokes out of him in his surprise. Bunce cracks one eye open questioningly, but he waves her off.

**[1:04 am] yes this is he**

_ [1:04 am] why do u talk so posh jeez _

**[1:05 am] did you need something or did you just feel like bothering me?**

Fuck, why did he have to be like that?   
  


_ [1:05 am] uh i just _

_ [1:06 am] well _

**[1:06 am] use your words**

_ [1:07 am] fuck off _

**[1:07 am] you texted me?**

_ [1:07 am] are you always such a prick? _

**[1:08 am] usually, yes.**

_ [1:08 am] i just wanted to say thank you jeez _

_ [1:08 am] u could have just blocked me and left me there and smth bad could have happened but u didn’t and that’s pretty cool of u _

**[1:09 am] oh.**

**[1:09 am] it’s nothing.**

_ [1:10 am] nah man it was really cool of u and i want to repay you for it _

**[1:10 am] it’s not necessary. I was just being decent**

_ [1:11 am] come on  _

_ [1:11 am] please? let me? _

**[1:12 am] what do you suggest?**

_ [1:12 am] fancy a coffee sometime? _

“Oi.” Penelope reaches across Agatha’s lap to thump him on the side of the head, “Why are you smiling at your phone like that? What are you doing?” Her eyes narrow. “Basil, are you watching porn?”

“What?!” He sputters, “No, fuck you.”

“Buy me dinner first, Basil.” She smirks, “So if you’re not watching porn… you’re texting a bloke?”

Traitorously, his face heats. 

“Shit, you are! Who is he? Tell me!”

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Agatha stirs awake between them, rubbing tiredly at one eye. 

“Basil is texting a  _ bloke _ , Aggie!”

Wellbelove perks up at that, turning towards him and grinning, “Is it the boy from earlier?” 

“Earlier?” Penelope parrots, leaning farther in, “What are you talking about? Are you keeping secrets, Bazzy?”

“No.” He affirms, at the same time Agatha giggles, “Yes.” Motherfucker. 

Penelope Bunce is bloody relentless, “Tell me everything.” 

Eager as ever, Agatha, leans towards the other girl and starts in a stage-whisper: “So last night…” 

Baz tunes her out, glancing at his phone again. 

_ [1:15 am] hello? _

_ [1:16 am] or…. Not?  _

_ [1:17 am] sorry for suggesting it i’ll stop bothering u now gn _

**[1:18 am] wait, sorry**

**[1:18 am] i was dealing with my annoying excuse for friends**

**[1:19 am] I’d love to get coffee with you sometime**

_ [1:19 am] oh fuck yeah :) _

_ [1:20 am] i thought u would say no bc ur too posh for me _

‘Too posh for him.’ Baz chuckles at that, and Penny shoots him a glare. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about this immediately? This is exciting!”

“Nothing exciting about it, Bunce.” He pauses, wallowing in her and Agatha’s glares for a moment, before, “Does going for a coffee qualify as a date?” 

“ _ What-” _

**[1:22 am] I probably am.**

**[1:22 am] no offense**

_ [1:23 am] ok rude af but probably tru _

_ [1:23 am] u know omaha cafe? my roommate is the owner we can get free coffee :) _

**[1:24 am] sounds lovely**

**[1:25 am] you free tomorrow?**

Was this supposed to be a date? Baz had never been for coffee with someone other than Bunce and Wellbelove before, and those definitely weren’t dates. 

“Stop bickering and help me,” Baz snaps at the other two, who are heatedly discussing the incident from earlier. 

“I think it’s a date, for sure.” Agatha volunteers.

“Yeah, because the lesbian knows exactly how boys think,” Penny huffs, but shrugs, “I don’t know man. I have no idea how boys work either.”

“Useless, thanks.”

_ [1:26 am] yeah, noon work? _

“Do I have anything going on at noon tomorrow, Agatha?”

“How should I know?” 

“You’re my  _ advisor _ .”

“No, don’t think you do.” 

**[1:26 am] yes.**

_ [1:27 am] nice!  _

_ [1:27 am] see you then? _

**[1:28 am] one more thing?**

_ [1:28 am] yeah what’s up _

**[1:29 am] your name?**

_ [1:29 am] oh yeah dnvjdskjnfsdamkdm  _

Keysmashing. Interesting.

“Do you guys know any straight people who keysmash?”

“I don’t know any straight people at all,” Agatha tries.

Penelope whacks Agatha’s shoulder. “I’m  _ right here-” _

_ [1:29 am] simon _

_ [1:30 am] simon snow  _

**[1:30 am] nice to meet you, simon snow**

Baz likes the name-- “Simon Snow.” he says aloud, interrupting the other two again. It rolls off the tongue nicely, even and measured. 

“That his name?” 

“ _ Obviously.” _

“No need to be mean, Pen.” 

_ [1:30 am] nice to meet u too prince pitch _

**[1:30 am] call me Baz**

_ [1:31 am] :D  _

_ [1:31 am] nice to meet u, BAZ _

**[1:32 am] goodnight snow**

_ [1:32 am] i have a first name? _

**[1:33 am] do you?**

_ [1:33 am] ...yes? _

If he weren’t a well-mannered, responsible person, Baz would chuck the phone across the room and bang his head into a wall. Flirting was  _ hard _ , and it didn’t help that he didn’t have any practice with it.

_ [1:33 am] goodnight baz _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll come back and grammar check/spell check it for real later fdnkslamdkadn
> 
> [join the discord server and make some friends!](https://discord.gg/Z68hNRg)


	3. Chapter 3

Even though he was the one who suggested noon, Baz is forty minutes early.  _ Forty fucking minutes. _ He and Agatha had spent the whole morning getting him ready-- the pep talk she’d given him had been an hour alone. 

He’d never seen this place-- rarely did he have a reason to venture into this part of town-- but it was nice enough, quaint and cozy, tucked between a used book store and a laundromat. Exposed brick, rusting (but tasteful) pipes, creaking wood floors, the works. Nestled into a corner booth, working on a coffee, he waits for the  _ Simon Snow _ to arrive. 

He doesn’t have to wait much longer; Simon comes shuffling out from behind the bar after a while. He’s wearing a pink t-shirt under his apron and smiling at Baz as he slides into the seat across from him. 

“You work here?” Baz blurts.  _ Fuck _ .

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to start with  _ hello _ one of these days.” 

_ One of these days. _ He says it as if they’ve known each other years, not as if their only other encounter was the previous afternoon. “Hello, Snow. I thought you said it was your roommate who worked here?” 

He looks sheepish. “He does. He’s the owner, and I work here.” He shrugs. “And at the flower shop across the street.”  _ Two jobs? _ Being around normal people makes Baz nervous sometimes-- it makes it clear just how much he’s been given in life. 

Leaning back in his seat, Simon grins at him, cheeks still a faint pink. “You clean up nice.”

Baz snorts. “What? Did I look like shit yesterday?” He’s joking; he knows he didn’t look like shit, but Simon’s eyes widen like a cartoon character anyway. 

“N-no. Not what I meant. Not at all. Just like- you’re wearing  _ jeans _ .” Baz raises an eyebrow at him. “Jeans,” He repeats, more stern this time. “Like some kind of Instagram model. But like, fancier.” 

“You think I could be a model, Snow?” 

“Fuck off, you already know you’re pretty.” 

“No, I don’t. Tell me?” 

For a second, he looks like someone’s punched him in the face. Shit, that was too much. Baz is halfway to falling out the booth and making a break for it when he breaks out into another earth-shattering grin.

“Make me.” So that’s how it is.

“Touché. Coffee?”

“I spend all day making, drinking and breathing coffee, Baz.” Baz likes the way his name sounds coming from Simon’s lips. He’s got a strange accent Baz can’t pinpoint, but feels vaguely familiar. 

“Does that mean you’re sick of it?” Why the fuck would he suggest coffee then?

But Simon just smiles wider, standing up. “Fuck no. What do you want?” 

“Surprise me.” He reaches into his pocket for his wallet, and Simon’s eyebrows scrunch. 

“No, don’t worry about that.”

“Snow-”

“On the house. I’ll make it myself. With extra love. Fit for a prince.” 

_ With love.  _ Pathetic, is what Baz is. “Fine.” 

“Perfect. Hold on one second.”

Baz feigns looking at his watch. “It’s been one second.” 

That gets a laugh out of the other boy. “Ok, maybe a few seconds. Just… stay there.” And then he’s hurrying back behind the bar, saying something good-naturedly to the other bloke making drinks. The man glances over at Baz and grins before shoving Simon in the ribs.

_ ‘Stay there.’  _ As if Baz would leave. 

Across the street, Dev and Niall are leaning against the brick-front of the flower shop-- where Simon apparently  _ also _ works. At a table closer to the bar, Agatha; Baz recognizes her despite her getup. Wellbelove’s idea of ‘disguise’ is a baseball hat pulled low over her brows. It’s not working. The other barista, the one Simon spoke to a minute ago, is laughing at something she’s said, stooped over her table to grab her empty cup. Poor thing probably doesn’t get it-- she’s wearing a  _ baseball jersey _ , how the fuck could she be straight?

For his part, Baz is fairly certain he’s inconspicuous enough. Jeans, hair down, the whole thing. He could be any other twenty-something year old in this place; he’d even brought his old soccer hoodie. (He could be any other tired college student in here, but Simon said he looked like a  _ model _ .) 

Simon’s sliding back into the booth, placing a cup in front of him with a smirk. “Guess what it is.”

“Is that a challenge?”

He leans further over the table, hands clasped in front of him, and Baz mirrors him. “You’re not gonna get it,” insists Simon. It’s a whisper, a taunt, a conspiracy across the worn table. 

“We’ll see about that.” Baz takes a sip; it’s rich and creamy, definitely a breve of sorts. Not too sweet, (not as sweet as Baz usually likes it, which is absurdly sweet to anyone else’s tastes,) but sweet enough. 

“It’s a fruity breve?” Simon nods. “Fruity breve mocha?” Another nod, then a smirk. “Strawberry?” Head shake. “Cherry?” A scrunching of Simon’s nose. “Raspberry.” Simon laughs at that one, resting his chin in his palm.

“No. Close though.” There’s a spattering of freckles on his forearm. “That all you got, Bazzy?” 

“Don’t call me that,” Baz growls, but he’s not actually bothered. It’s kind of cute, the nickname. “Close to raspberry? Blue raspberry?” 

“Closer.” 

Baz glares at him a moment, mulling it over. He takes another sip, and it’s so obvious; he’s kicking himself for not getting it straight away. “Blueberry. I’m an idiot.”

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner!” Simon cheers. He’s so fucking happy about it, and so fucking  _ loud. _ The woman at the table a few feet from them is staring with narrowed eyes; a man across the shop is watching with bird-like curiosity. Even from here, Baz can practically  _ hear  _ the gears turning in his head, puzzling over where he recognizes Baz from. Fuck. 

“Quiet,” Baz hisses, “People are looking.” 

“So?” Simon glances around the shop, then back at Baz. “Oh. Right. Duh.” 

“...The royalty thing doesn’t bother you, does it?” It feels like a stupid question to ask, but Simon looks uncomfortable all of a sudden, shifting anxiously in his seat. 

“No.” It’s clipped, stilted. He tugs at a curl near his forehead, the same thing he did the previous morning. Must be a nervous tick, Baz notes. “Listen… maybe we should hang out later? Somewhere not so public?” 

_ He wants to hang out. Again. _ Baz can’t help it; he’s grinning, and then Simon is grinning back. “I’d love to-” 

“We need to go.” He blinks, and Agatha is there, standing between him and the rest of the shop. Catching Baz’s eye, she nods towards the woman behind her, the severe-looking one who had been staring a moment ago. There’s a phone in her hand now, pointed right at Agatha’s back. She probably already got a picture. Fuck. 

Simon looks pained, glancing between the prince and his advisor. He can’t possibly think…? Baz almost laughs at the prospect. She’s a lesbian, and he’s  _ gay _ . Eying Snow, he amends:  _ very _ gay.

“Snow-” He starts, but he’s not sure what he’s going to say. 

Simon saves him the trouble. He seems to have caught on, wary eyes on the lady with the phone. “You guys wanna sneak out the back?” 

Almost immediately, the tension in Agatha’s shoulders eases up. She smiles at Simon, “That’d be lovely, thank you.” Her grin turns wolfish as she glances at Baz, and then she fucking winks, adding in a stage whisper, “I like your choice in boys, Basil.” 

For fucks sake. ‘Wingwoman’ his ass. 

The following minutes and ensuing chaos are a blur-- Simon hustling the two of them behind the bar, much to the other barista’s confusion, shuffling through a stockroom and bursting through the creaking metal doors into the April sun. Dev pulls up in a sleek black car, leaning too far out the window just to salute Simon, who looks properly confused. In the passenger seat, his feet on the dash and sunglasses pulled up into his hairline, Niall gives Snow a shit-eating grin.

“Snow, this is Dev and Niall, the biggest idiots you’ll ever meet.” Baz smirks, “Now you’ve met almost everyone I know.” 

“What? A prince doesn’t have that many friends?” Simon is toeing at a stone on the ground, kicking it back and forth and avoiding Baz’s eyes.

“Just the four. Five, if you’re interested.” 

Agatha looks impressed, and Dev snorts, folding himself back into his seat. 

“That…” Scratching at the back of his head, Simon finally meets Baz’s eyes. It’s sunny here, the golden light splashing his skin and lighting his grin up like a firecracker. “Sounds lovely. I’ll text you, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” And Baz can’t help but smile right back. There’s a tense moment there, in the sun, where they just stare at one another, smiling like idiots. 

Until Agatha coughs, a hand dropping onto Baz’s shoulder; he swears on his mother’s grave that Simon flinches, scowling at Wellbelove’s feet. 

“Right, this is all well and gay but we gotta dip.” She flashes Snow a smile. “See ya.” 

“See you.” Simon echoes, and then he turns, stomping back into the shop. 

Crawling over a protesting Dev’s lap, Niall sticks his head out the driver’s side window. “Way to ruin the moment, babes,” he shouts at Agatha, “Bazzy almost had it.” 

She throws her hands up and opens the back seat. “We really do have to go.”

They’re hardly out of the lot when Baz’s phone buzzes in his lap. He hates how eagerly he paws it open when he reads the pop up on his screen.

_ (000)-420-#### _

_ [12:23pm] hey u might not like this _

**[12:24pm] like what?**

_ [12:24pm] [Image Attached] _

“Mother _ fucker _ .” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry there's such variation in chapter length and style lmfao. consistency is not my thing.

“Cavorting with a boy, Basil? Are you kidding me?” 

Malcolm Pitch, standing at six foot five, is something on any occasion. Menacing, statuesque, scowling, the works. When provoked-- leaning over Basil in his study, one arm outstretched towards his cowering son, eyes alight-- he’s downright terrifying. 

“No, I’m not kidding, Father.” 

Basil Pitch, six foot two, is also something on any occasion. Alluring, blasé, smirking, the works. When chastised-- legs crossed in front of him in his chair, hands in his pockets, looking up into the face of rage-- he’s downright fed up.

“I can’t believe this, Tyrannus.” Baz flinches at the name. No one but his father’s called him that since his mother died almost twenty years ago. “You didn’t even bother with a  _ disguise _ .” He wants to point out, unhelpfully, that he did try to be inconspicuous-- but that would require admitting his camouflage was a failure. “Did you even bring Agatha with you?” 

“Of course I did. Dev and Niall, too.” 

Malcolm rolls his eyes. “Like those two are ever anything but trouble.” He steps back, taking a seat at his desk and resting his head in his hands with a sigh. “You’ll ruin the Pitch name, Basil. We’re lucky there was only one photo. Who even  _ is _ this boy? Where did you meet him? You know I don’t want you meeting up with,” he shudders, “ _ internet people _ , not after what happened last summer.” 

They’ve had this conversation before; there’s no use pointing out that Fiona ran off with that man by her own free will. His father, ever the theatric, (Baz doesn’t get his penchant for melodramatics from his mother, that’s for sure,) romanticized it into some kidnapping of sorts, despite the fact that Fiona calls every other week. 

Baz winces. “But that’s not the point. What’s wrong with me making a new friend?” 

“Friend?” Stroking his beard, Malcolm grimaces. “What about Agatha and Bunce? She’s a nice girl, Basil-”

“I know that, Father. Trust me, I do.” To Baz’s surprise, Malcolm has never had a problem with his sexuality. After he’d come out, frantically explaining that he’d still marry Bunce if necessary, Malcolm had only laughed. (“Am I supposed to be surprised, son?”) No, his queerness was never the problem: status was. “But he seems nice. Is that so bad?”

His father is quiet for a long moment, regarding Baz. Eventually: “You really like him? You seemed happy,” he coughs, “in the picture.” 

“I do. I was.” 

“Well then.” He picks up a pen from the desk before him, twirling it in his fingers as Baz shifts in his seat, trying to keep up a straight face. Oh, the irony. “How does Agatha feel about him?”

At the end of the day, Malcolm trusted Wellbelove above anyone else. It was comical, really, the amount of faith he put in her opinion. (He once texted her, drunkenly on holiday, to ask what bets he should take in a poker game; she’d offhandedly replied, not too invested, and he’d won the biggest jackpot of his life.) “Agatha loves him,” Baz assured him, “She thinks he’s cute.” 

Malcolm makes a “hmph” sound under his breath. “Do I want to know where you met him?” At Baz’s head shake, he grins faintly. “The public seems excited to see you with someone new.” He says it conversationally, but there’s something hidden in his tone that Baz can’t place. “They think you’re going to marry this man.”

“...Excuse me?”

“Strange, isn’t it? But it’s been what? Four hours, since it was posted, and it’s already the only thing anyone can talk about.” He opens his laptop, smacking at the keys for a minute before turning it towards Baz, who is still as a statue in his seat. “See? Twitter’s blown up, there are talks of conspiracy, of publicity stunts, the works.” 

Indeed. “#PrincePitchsMan,” he reads aloud, blanching. 

Malcolm merely nods. Basil can’t help but be impressed with how calmly his father is handling this. While he’d thought not even five minutes ago that the anger is unwarranted, something of this magnitude would usually bring a storm. The picture-- Baz smiling at Snow, whose broad shoulders and curly hair are all that’s shown, thankfully, while Agatha, easily recognizable by her blond hair streaming down her back, stands-- is plastered all across the home page. Nearly every major news article is tweeting it out, with captions ranging from “Mystery Man seen on cute coffee date with the crown prince!” to “Blond Bastard making a mad grab for Pitch name?” It’s absurd, really, the magnitude of it, after only a few hours. Baz is still wearing the same goddamn clothes, for fuck’s sake. 

“Points for creativity,” He avers, looking back up at his father, whose gaze has softened.

“I just want what’s best for you,” is all Malcolm offers. Basil can’t remember the last time he’d seen his father looking so out of his league. It’s a jarring reminder of just how old Malcolm is.

After a beat, Baz nods. “Yeah. I know you do.” 

“Are you going to see him again?”

He swallows. “Yes.” 

A sigh. “Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?” 

Baz looks away.

Another deep sigh, and a click of the pen in his father’s hand. “I see. Are you prepared to deal with… all this?” It’s so quiet that Basil can hear the clock ticking above his father’s head; he doesn’t even think either of them are breathing. They don’t  _ do  _ conversation. They do lectures and yelling. And the silent treatment. 

“Yes, Father.” He stands, running a hand through his hair. “...Thank you for understanding.”

Malcolm nods, holding his eyes for a moment before glancing down at his desk and waving a hand. Dismissed, then. 

Agatha is waiting outside the door, an ear pressed to the wood. She straightens when Baz comes out, faking a salute. “So?” 

“Text Penny. We’re getting drunk tonight.” 

  
  


_ (000)-420-#### _

_ [11:49pm] are u mad _

**[11:52pm] why would I be mad?**

_ [11:53pm] soiled ur good name and all that _

**[11:53pm] no, I’m not mad**

**[11:54pm] it’s kind of funny, actually.**

_ [11:54pm] cheers i’ll drink to that bro _

_ [11:54pm] i have work in the morning so i gtg but i’ll text u on my break tomorrow _

**[11:55pm] I’ll be waiting.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm happy with the dialogue in this, but the rest is kinda eh.

The next time they meet up, it’s four days later. An eventful four days: between meetings and movie nights with the girls, Baz had found himself checking his phone what felt like every five minutes for texts from Simon. And more often than not, there was one, or two, or an indecipherable string of emojis that involved lots of hearts and smileys. Baz couldn’t fathom what they meant, but he liked them either way. 

Simon had chosen the spot. A block from the coffee shop was an old arcade on the corner, (a ‘staple of this town!’ as Snow had put it,) standing out against the sleek office buildings around it. It was squat, with neon signs plastered across every available surface and covered in creeping vines. 

“This the place?” Baz asked incredulously, turning towards Simon. Today he wore a blue shirt with a plaid skirt to match-- there were butterfly clips in his hair. 

“Yep! I used to come here with Shep all the time, but we’re both too busy to go now.” He doesn’t look upset about it, just shrugs and smiles. As they make their way inside, (Simon  _ holds the door for him, _ ) Baz recalls the other barista from the coffeeshop-- Shepard. 

“How’d you two meet?” The arcade is dark, and bigger than he expected. There are old-school machines along one wall and newer-looking ones on the other, along with a cafe area in the back. Aside from the old man sweeping behind the counter, the place is a ghost town.

Simon’s face is green in the neon lighting from overhead. “He hit me with his car.” When Baz raises an eyebrow, his face splits into a crooked grin. “I’m serious. I was fine, obviously, and I’ve got this wicked cool scar on my thigh. Badass, huh?”

“Sure,” Baz agrees, nodding. Simon’s smile spreads like honey. “I’ve never been to an arcade; where do I start?” 

“Never?” 

“Never. Which one is your favorite?” 

Snatching his hand-- and doesn’t  _ that _ shoot tingles up Baz’s arm-- Simon drags him about halfway down the wall. “Ms. Pacman?” Baz asks aloud.

“That’s  _ Mrs _ . Pacman to you, peasant.” 

Baz snorts. “I can’t say I’ve ever been called a peasant before. For obvious reasons. Interesting change of pace.” 

“Obvious reasons?” Simon’s nose wrinkles and he tilts his head like a bird. Baz can see the moment it hits him- his shoulders drop and he huffs, wincing slightly. “Oh. Duh.” 

“Indeed.” He turns towards the game, digging out the bag of quarters he brought along. “I’ll have you know, I stole Agatha’s piggy bank for this.” 

“Agatha… your girlfriend? The blonde one?” He says it casually (too casually), looking down at the controls. But there’s a tinge to his voice that has Baz smirking, leaning closer as if about to tell a secret, one hand cupped to his mouth.

“Snow,” He stage-whispers. There’s only a few inches between their faces; Simon Snow smells like cinnamon and sweat and strawberry shampoo. There’s a freckle on the tip of his nose that Baz hadn’t noticed before. It’s faint, and vaguely heart-shaped. He’d like to kiss it. 

“Yeah?” It could be a trick of the light, or Baz’s hyperactive imagination, or maybe just stupid hope, but he’d swear it on his mother’s grave: Simon glances at his lips as he says it. 

“Did you know,” (Baz can’t say he’s been this close to anyone except Penny or Wellbelove, and it was very different then. His heart didn’t beat this fast and his breath didn’t come this short and he most certainly wasn’t fighting the urge to kiss either of them.) “That I’m the gayest man this side of California?”

He can hear the hitch in Simon’s voice, and then a wide grin replaces the anxiety on the boy’s face. “Shit, really? Which side? That’s like, directly across or something.” 

A laugh bubbles out of Baz and he leans away, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. “Either. Both, probably.” Pulling four quarters from the bag, he smirks at Simon, who still looks a little dazed. “So, are you going to teach me?”

“Er- not much to teach. You just like,” He gestures vaguely, “Wiggle the stick and smash buttons.” 

“Smash buttons? Is that your expert technique, Snow?” 

A disgruntled look crosses Simon’s face. “Well, when you say it like that…”

The game lights up when Baz drops the coins through the slots, starting up with a cheery tune. 

“Did you know the ghosts have names?” Simon is behind him now, leaning over his shoulder to watch him fumble with the controls. Drifting over his collar, his breath is heavy and warm on Baz’s neck. 

It’s awfully distracting, really- between the chirping machines around him, the flashing lights, and Simon radiating heat behind him, almost pressed to his back in the empty arcade, Baz is easily going to lose this game within a minute. “Inky,” Simon goes on, quiet, a hand coming up to Baz’s left to tap the screen. “Blinky, that’s the red one,” he leans further into Baz, and now he’s not just imagining his presence against his back. “Pinky.” A shiver shoots down his spine; Baz can’t help but lean into his chest, Simon is so close,  _ right there _ -

Snow steps back, and there’s a smile in his voice. “And Clyde!”

The rush of cool air on his back is startling, and Baz almost falls backwards, not ready for the absence. Simon snorts, coming back up to Baz’s side to steady him, a hand on his bicep. 

“Arsehole,” Baz mutters, glaring weakly at the other boy, who only laughs. 

“You lose,” He singsongs. Glancing back at the screen, Baz can see that sure enough, he’s lost. The ghost-- fucking  _ Clyde-- _ got him. 

“I was… distracted.” Baz coughs, and Simon erupts into another fit of giggles. And even though he looks like a fool, Baz can’t really be mad. 

Tugging at Baz-- he’s still got a hand curled delicately over his arm-- Simon starts farther down the line. “You gotta try Galaga.”

By the time they’ve worked their way through first the oldies, and then the new, it’s dark outside. Without the sunlight streaming through the front window, the neon lights overhead give the place an odd, alien glow. Pink and blue dance in Simon’s curls and across his face as they slide into a booth at the sitting area in the back. They’d ordered from the old man-- his name tag simply read “FRANK”-- who had nodded silently and heated their food. Cheap, frozen pizza. 

Simon is delighted, tearing through his food with abandon. 

“Your table manners are atrocious,” Baz comments. Poking at the mess on his plate, he glares at Simon from across the table. He’d paid, much to Simon’s protest, but this can hardly be considered food, he thinks. 

“So I’ve been told.” He doesn’t look bothered in the least, smacking his lips for emphasis.

Baz tosses a napkin at him. “And you didn’t listen?” 

“Pfft,” he wipes his face, “why should I?” 

“Maybe so no one has to see…” He trails off, gesturing at Simon, “...that disaster.” 

“Fucking  _ rude _ , did no one teach  _ you _ manners either?” 

Baz shrugs. 

“Unbelievable,” Simon crows, rolling his eyes dramatically. “A palace full of people and no one can teach the  _ crown prince _ that it’s rude to stare and pick fun at people.”

“I do  _ not _ stare-”

“Ok, sure.” He doesn’t sound convinced, though. Baz huffs.

“Well, where’d you grow up?” 

Stilling, Simon looks away. A shadow crosses his face and his eyes screw shut. 

Fuck.  _ Sore subject _ , Baz tells himself, and grapples for something to say. 

“Maybe Shepard,” That was his friend’s name, right? “Should have taught you some manners by now, then?” He tries, hating how nervous it comes out. 

“I’m not his  _ ward,” _ Simon all but growls, his shoulders hunching up around his ears. Caving in on himself, then. Baz swallows, rooting through his mind for something else to say. 

“I don’t think you are. I don’t think you’re anyone’s ward. Probably too headstrong and stubborn for that.” He works to keep his voice light, musing. An airy laugh works its way out of him, with effort. “And you’re far too kind; I’d assume you’re the one who takes care of other people.” 

Thank the heavens- he gets a soft chuckle for that. When Simon looks back up at him, he’s grinning the slightest bit. “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“I would.” Baz shrugs. “And I am the prince here; what I say goes.”

A real laugh this time. “As you wish.” 

“Was that a  _ Princess Bride _ reference, Snow? How cultured of you.” 

Simon snorts, setting an elbow on the table and dropping his chin into his hand, opening back up. Inwardly, Baz breathes a sigh of relief. “You sound surprised.”

“Hm, maybe I am.” He picks up his slice, eyeing it warily. Simon has already finished. “Is this actually edible?” 

“I just ate it, and I’m not dead.” 

“Yet,” Baz amends, glaring at him. “If this kills me, it’s on you. That’s treason.” 

Laughing, Snow fakes a salute. “I’m ready to take the fall,  _ Your Majesty _ .”

“I’ll remember that.” And he takes a bite. It’s strange- simultaneously burnt and frozen- and tastes vaguely like charcoal. Or rocks. Or maybe both. Coughing, he reaches for his soda. 

Simon is laughing, looking so carefree it makes Baz’s heart ache. 

“Ha ha. Very funny. This is gross,” he says, even as he takes another bite. It’s not as bad the second time, now that he’s expecting it.

“What, never had frozen pizza before?”

Baz sneers. “What about me makes you think I’ve had frozen pizza at any point in my life?”

“Fair point.” Simon shrugs. “What else haven’t you done, that us mere mortals have?” 

“How should I know?” 

“Been to a party? Got a hangover? Been grocery shopping? Gone sledding?”

“Yes, yes, no, and no. Why would I go grocery shopping?” 

It takes Snow a second to sort through the answers. “You’ve never been sledding? Damn, when it snows I have  _ got _ to take you.” 

Baz’s heart jumps at that- at the prospect of Simon sticking around long enough to see the snow with him. That’s months away. 

Across from him, Simon is still talking. “Wait, you’ve never been grocery shopping before?” 

“No,” he deadpans, taking another bite of pizza. “When would I have had the need to do that?” 

Simon shrugs. Shrugs make up half of his sentences, Baz has observed. And then he stands, hands on his hips as he stares down at Baz. Smirking-- and isn’t  _ that _ a good look on him-- Simon extends a hand to the prince. 

“Your Majesty,” he starts in a nasally voice that makes Baz smile, “I would like to formally request that you accompany me to the Tesco’s down the street. If you would humble me with your presence, I’d be honored to show you the wonders of grocery shopping, and-”

“Enough with that,” Baz snaps playfully, grabbing for his drink. “You sound like my father.” 

Snow’s smirk turns downright evil then, and he lowers his voice playfully. “I mean, you could call me daddy if you really liked-” 

Baz chokes. Across from him, Simon bursts into laughter.

It’s a good minute before Baz can speak, cough sputtering out, though he hasn’t gotten his blush under control. “Haha, very funny.” 

“I thought it was,” he shrugs again, grin at full capacity. 

“You seem very comfortable with the whole royalty thing,” Baz notes, twirling his straw in his cup. 

Simon bristles. “What makes you say that?”

Backtracking: “It’s just,” waving a hand noncommittally, Baz huffs, “I think most people would be awfully overwhelmed.” 

Something softens in Simon’s expression, his eyebrows drawing downwards. Baz breathes a sigh of relief. “One of my friends is a duchess. Or duke, I guess. She’s not married.” 

Nodding, Baz smiles in what he hopes is a gentle manner. “I see.” 

A beat passes in silence before Simon speaks up. 

“So, you coming or not? Get up already,” His hand is still outstretched, inviting. He’s got these stubby, bitten nails that Baz shouldn’t find charming and there’s a caramel mole on his wrist. 

“Demanding, are we?” He asks, but takes Simon’s hand nonetheless. It’s warm, and sends tingles up his arm. 

“Always,” Simon laughs, tugging him out the door. 

  
  


_ (000)-420-#### _

_ [12:08am] i had fun today <3 _

**[12:09am] me too.**

**[12:09am] surprisingly.**

_ [12:09am] :0 _

_ [12:10am] should i be offended?? _

**[12:10am] a little.**

_ [12:10am] ur wish is my command _

_ [12:10am] uR mAjEsTy _

**[12:11am] goodbye.**

_ [12:11am] wait noooo :( _

**[12:11am] hm.**

_ [12:12am] i still can’t believe u had never been grocery shopping _

_ [12:12am] i took ur grocery shopping virginity :0!! :D!! _

**[12:13am] ok now i really am leaving.**

_ [12:14am] nooo :( _

**[12:14am] i have shit to do for my father tomorrow. gn Snow.**

_ [12:14am] lame <3 _

_ [12:15am] talk to u tomorrow then gn _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before anyone gets pissy that penny is a duke and not a duchess: i did it on purpose, because the UK uses the term duke for women too, until they get married.

It’s somehow all over the news the next day, but Baz is too happy to care. He’d woken up to a “ _ good morning, uR mAjEsTy <3”  _ text, smiling into his pillows until Agatha had yelled at him. 

His father catches him in the hall, going on about their image. There’s a photo of the two of them walking to the grocery store, still holding hands, that’s particularly well-covered. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” 

“I do, Father.” A lie, of course. 

Surprisingly, he’d gotten away unscathed. Pursing his lips, his father only nodded and turned away. 

There’s a whole afternoon yawning in front of him, so with Agatha by his side, he ends up on the sunny patio, scrolling aimlessly through Twitter. Half of it is about him and his supposed “husband to be.” 

“‘Crown Prince has a new consort,’” Agatha reads from her chair beside him. There’s a pair of sunglasses perched on her head and sunscreen dots her face where she’s failed to rub it in. Another: “‘Pitch Prince pimps pretty prostitute,’” she snorts. “Nice alliteration, but Simon is _too_ pretty to be a prostitute.”

“Agatha,” Baz scolds, “anyone can be a prostitute.” 

She bats her eyelashes at him playfully. “Even me?”

That earns an eye roll. “Even you. Me, too. You know anyone buying?” 

“‘Basil Pitch seen with new beau, who is this mystery man?’ Now that one was just boring.” Turning towards him, she asks, “You find anything good?”

He glances down at his phone. “‘Does Basil Pitch is gay? The truth comes out,’” he reads aloud, grinning. “Points for creativity, I guess. A solid four out of ten.” 

“If I were a journalist,” Agatha muses, “I’d say, ‘At long last, Prince Pitch meets someone. It’s about fucking time.” 

“Rude.”

“But true. You seem a lot happier this week. Less broody, not so…” She gestures vaguely, “Evil vampire poet.” 

Baz doesn’t warrant that with a response, opting to glare at the glistening pool in front of them. It’s so blue, almost the same shade as Simon’s eyes.

Speak of the devil-- Baz’s phone vibrates in his hand. 

_ Simon Snow _

_ [4:16pm] r u busy _

**[4:16pm] not really**

_ [4:16pm] video chat? :,’O _

**[4:17pm] why is the emoji crying?**

_ [4:17pm] it’s not crying its blushing _

**[4:18pm] sure sure**

“...Are you even listening to me, Basil?”

Baz’s head snaps up. “What?” 

Agatha is smirking at him knowingly. “You’re texting him again, aren’t you?” 

“No,” he lies. She raises an eyebrow and he immediately backtracks. “...Yes.” 

“Good, good.” She grins for real now, the edges going soft. “I’m happy for you.” 

Tensing, Baz smiles back. He doesn’t  _ do _ sappy. “Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna go call him, I’ll see you later?” 

“Don’t forget you have that dinner party tonight.”

He grumbles, “Don’t remind me.” 

**[4:20pm] [Baz Pitch started a video call]**

  
  


\---------------------

Four months. It takes four months for Simon to come back to the palace. Four months of dancing around the city, trying to keep their friendship quiet, four months of dancing around each other, trying to keep things light. Baz is so deep in love he can hardly see past it; every “Basil Pitch New Lover?” tweet and “Crown Prince engaged?” rumor, every “Pitch Name In Danger?” accusation and “A Royal in Love,” headline flying right by unseeing eyes and falling on deaf ears. 

Agatha has taken the piss like never before, teasing him relentlessly. Every five minutes, it’s a text from her or Penny with a new silly article. And every four minutes, it’s a text from Simon. 

There’s a tension building there, between them, crackling like a live wire, and any minute now it’s going to ignite, Baz can feel it. An accidental brush of their fingers will keep him up at night, a soft smile from across the table will  _ ache _ in his chest for hours. 

They haven’t talked about it. Not the real ‘it’. Over lunch one day, slouched in a corner booth of some dingy cafe Simon was fond of, Baz had brought it up: “So, everyone thinks we’re going to be married.” 

“Everyone?” Simon asked with his mouth full. It was disgustingly charming. 

Nodding, Baz had pushed his plate aside. He wasn’t all that hungry, he could sustain himself on their talks all day. “It’s everywhere. I know you’ve seen it.”

“Course I have. I don’t live under a rock.” He shrugged, tugging at his curls-- that meant he was nervous, Baz had deciphered. “What do you want to do about it?” 

It was a minute before Baz could make himself answer, too caught up in watching those fingers card through golden hair. “Fuck with them, I guess.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Let them think that.” Baz shrugged, suddenly nervous too. He didn’t  _ shrug _ ; that was a Simon thing. “Unless you want me to correct them, I don’t care. It’s entertaining.” 

“I don’t want you to correct them,” Simon said, quickly. His face flushed red. “I mean, it’s cool. I kinda like it.” 

Baz wasn't sure what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. Things were a little awkward, then, but Simon had given him a blinding smile as a parting gift, so he didn’t pay it much mind. 

And now, two weeks after that conversation, Simon is coming to the palace. Baz had sent Agatha out to fetch him, much to both their protest. (“I’m your bodyguard, not your chauffeur!” “You’re my assistant. _ ” _ “Am  _ not- _ ”/ “I can drive myself, I’m not five!”) 

There’s a meeting going on at the other end of the building, and Baz had pointedly ignored the thing: Davy Mage was there. It had been easy to squirrel out of his father’s grasp; the man was distracted, going on to Fiona about strategy. Baz’s aunt didn’t often attend meetings, but made a special appearance whenever Mage was involved. No matter how much she and his father squabbled, they always aligned on this one thing: the Mage. 

(Baz wasn’t sure the history there, and had never mustered up the courage to ask either of them. It went unspoken.)

With his afternoon cleared and his father busy, it seemed like the perfect opportunity for Simon to visit. Baz waits in the courtyard, sleeves rolled up and sunglasses on. It’s bright and warm today, much to his chagrin. And windy- a good excuse for his mother’s scarf, at least. By the time Agatha pulls up, it’s almost noon. She springs from the driver’s seat almost immediately, leaning through the open backseat window.

“OK, get the fuck out of my car.” 

There’s a laugh from inside, and Simon emerges, grinning. His moles seem to glow in the sun. 

“Penny’s getting here at five,” Agatha tells Baz, striding past him and through the front doors. He knows she isn’t actually mad, that it’s just a show. For Simon, probably-- she’s remarkably fond of him, despite hardly knowing him. Baz can’t exactly say he blames her.

With a snort, Baz follows her, motioning for Simon to follow. He does, doggedly, eyes darting back and forth. The doors slam behind him. He flinches. 

“Alright, love?” Fuck. That was an accident. They are  _ friends _ , for fuck’s sake.

To Baz’s relief, Simon isn’t miffed in the slightest. In fact, he smiles. “‘Love?’” He parrots slyly, hooking an arm around Baz’s. It shouldn’t send a shiver down Baz’s spine--it’s a friendly gesture, hardly intimate--but it does. “I’m honored to hold the title.” 

“Prat,” is all Baz accuses, shoving down the fluttering feeling in his gut and dragging Simon down the hall. It’s empty, mostly, except a few staff members milling around. 

“I thought it would be… busier?” Simon ventures, eyes on the ceiling. There’s a mosaic there; Baz used to get dizzy staring at it for hours, trying to avoid his father’s mourning. A woman, with dark hair and skin, throwing fire at pale monsters-- handsome, almost human. 

Ahead of them, Agatha laughs. “Are you not impressed?” She calls back, and Simon pales on Baz’s arm. 

“That’s not- I didn’t mean. Er,” He stutters, free hand tangling in his shirt hem. 

“Relax. She’s only teasing.” 

“No I’m not,” Agatha says, but she turns around to grin at them as she says it.

They’re only five minutes or so into a movie-- after almost twenty minutes of bickering, a sneaky mission to the kitchens for snacks, and an almost unbearable amount of teasing on Agatha’s part--when Penelope arrives, dropping unceremoniously onto the sofa without sparing any of them a glance. 

She’s already launching into a rant. “Are you aware, Basil, that your father is the worst?” 

Baz opens his mouth to agree, or to introduce Simon, or even to stop her from a lecture, but she’s talking over him already, throwing an arm over her eyes. “His newest policy is encroaching on the treaty we signed with them last year, which is completely against-”

“Penny?” Simon interrupts-- they all turn to him. “The fuck are you doing here?” 

Bunce startles, sitting up and turning to him. “Me? What are  _ you  _ doing here, Simon?” 

He doesn’t answer, worrying his lip with a scrunched brow. A beat of silence passes before Agatha intervenes. “You two know each other?” 

“Yeah,” Simon mumbles, glancing at Baz and shrugging helplessly, “I told you I knew a duchess, right?” There’s a nervous lilt to his voice when he says it, and his face is bright red. Sitting upright, he shifts besides Baz. 

“Duke, technically,” Penny corrects, pushing her glasses up her nose. “One of you explain.” Silently, Baz links his pinky finger with Simon’s under the blanket. His eyes flicker to Baz’s face wordlessly, but he doesn’t drag his hand away. Sparks dance up Baz’s arm. 

Agatha is saying something, but Baz can’t focus: he’s tuned in to the thrumming of his heart, the warmth of Simon’s skin, their proximity. There’s a safe amount of distance between them, but it makes his heart soar either way. He watches as Agatha explains to Penny.

Looking at the two of them, Penelope breaks into a fit of hysteria, throwing her head back to laugh in full. Blue curls tumble across the arm of the sofa. Agatha observes with faint amusement in her eyes, grinning slightly. 

After a second, Bunce catches her breath: “ _ Simon _ is the stranger you have a crush on? That’s rich!” 

Baz stiffens, sputtering. Agatha is glaring daggers at Penelope; she might be a menace but at least  _ she _ has tact. No one moves, the room stuffy with pregnant silence. Having realized what she said, Penelope shoots Basil an apologetic look. He huffs, eying Simon. 

“I’m not a stranger,” the blonde boy corrects easily. Under the covers, his fingers curl further around Baz’s hand, and he grins his full 100-watt smile at the three of them. “Can we get back to the movie?” 

“What’re we watching?” Penny asks easily, moving across the couch to curl into Simon’s side. Briefly, Baz is flooded with jealousy. It passes; Simon’s grip tightens on his hand, fingers lacing through his own. 

“Die Hard,” Agatha supplies, tossing a handful of popcorn towards her mouth. (And missing poorly-- it scatters across Baz’s bedsheets, drawing a sigh out of him. He tries to glare at her, he really does, but he’s giddy off the feeling of Simon’s warm fingers threaded through his; he fears it comes off as more of a half-hearted grimace.)

From his right, Penelope groans. “Not again, Si.” She reaches for the bowl of pretzels in Simon’s lap, grinning familiarly at an indignant Simon. 

“It’s my favorite, and Baz said he hasn’t seen it.” 

Penny snorts. “He lied.” 

Whirling on him, Simon scoffs. “Really?”

Averting his eyes, Baz huffs, but doesn’t give a response. He’s going to destroy Penelope, have her thrown in the dungeon (though it hasn't been used in ages, they _do_ have one), have her arrested for treason, sic a murder of crows on her to peck out her eyes. His face is burning. 

“The three of us watched it last month,” Agatha chimes in. “He hated it.” 

“I’m finding a new bodyguard,” Baz snaps at her, and she only laughs. 

“You’d fall apart without me, babe.” 

Beside him, Simon is giggling like a maniac. “Why didn’t you just tell me you hate it?”

Helplessly, Baz grapples for words. After a beat, Penny takes mercy, leaning further into Simon’s space to stage-whisper, tone conspiratory. “He didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” 

That only serves to make Snow laugh some more, turning his brilliant smile on Baz. “You’re silly. Let’s watch something else.”

“No, no, make him suffer,” Penny offers, an evil glint in her eye. Baz really is going to have her executed if she keeps this up. 

But Simon seems to find it funny, nodding his head gleefully. 

“Suddenly Dev and Niall are my only friends,” Baz huffs. Simon still hasn’t let go of his hand, not that Baz is complaining. He can feel Simon’s gaze on the side of his head. Settling back into the cushions, trains his eyes resolutely on the screen. 

Taking that as a defeat, Agatha digs the remote out from the covers and presses play. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, i'd like to formally apologize for the next chapter; it was really hard to write and it's kinda shittily done. it feels weird and stunted, but i just wanted to move on.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize

All in all, Baz would be ready to call the evening a success. Standing in the expansive yard, the four of them are chatting idly. Stalling-- or at least Baz is-- Simon’s departure. 

The sun has already begun its descent below the tree line, painting the sky pink and yellow. The moon’s already risen, casting pale light over them as the rest of the sun’s rays fade. Across the grounds, the lanterns are lit, flickering faintly. 

Simon stretches, grinning. “You’re nice company,” He says casually, and Baz doesn’t know which of them he’s talking to, but his heart swells all the same. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Agatha agrees, elbowing him. He winces; Baz can say from experience that Agatha has elbows like knives. He shoots Simon a sympathetic look.

Beside him, Penelope snorts. “Careful Aggie; he needs to get home in one piece.” 

“Does he, though?” Baz muses aloud. 

Simon scoffs, turning a betrayed look on Baz. “That was uncalled for.” 

“My specialty.” 

Simon opens his mouth to rebuke him, but thinks better of it, snapping it shut. 

The faint echo of footsteps rings behind them. Almost simultaneously they turn; King Pitch and a few scattered royals are making their way down the steps. Baz spots Mitali Bunce, as well as Fiona and Mage. He’s in his customary getup, cape, cane, and all: the works. His hair is greyer now than the last time Basil had the misfortune of seeing him, and his mustache has gotten even thinner. As they descend the steps, he’s deep in conversation with Baz’s father and Dr. Bunce. 

(The nation had been shocked, last year, when she’d abdicated her power to her daughter-- an unprecedented feat in their kingdom. But everyone knew she hated appearances; she still did most of the actual work, leaving Penelope to deal with the public. It was an arrangement that worked for the both of them, though Penny had admitted to Baz once that she wanted more ‘real’ responsibility.)

Agatha sweeps into the customary bow. (She doesn't have to, being more or less part of the family, but insists nonetheless, especially when other royals are nearby.) Simon doesn’t follow, and she hisses, tugging at his arm to try and drag him down with her. 

But he’s stood stock-still, frozen and wide-eyed. His jaw’s gone slack and his fingers clench at his sides, a flush working its way up his neck. If he didn’t know any better, Baz would venture that he looks almost afraid. He knows his father can be intimidating, but he’s no cause for any real fear; Malcolm wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

Agatha is upright again, wrapping one hand around Simon’s bicep and waving the other in front of him. “You good?” She asks, concern laced in her voice. 

Penny shoots a confused look at Baz, who purses his lips. 

“Snow?” He whispers, and then, louder, when he doesn’t get a response: “Simon?” 

He doesn't respond. It's like he’s shrunk, curling in on himself. It reminds Basil of that moment in the arcade, when he’d asked about Simon’s upbringing. Something like dread settles in the pit of his stomach as he turns back to his father. 

They’ve reached the landing now, and Baz meets Mage’s gaze by accident; it’s all he can do not to flinch. Something about Davy has always unsettled him, since a young age. When he was four, a short time before his mother died, Mage had stormed out of a meeting in a rage, tearing down tapestries and yelling at staff the whole way. It’d taken months before he would even see any of the Pitches, not even coming to the funeral. No card, no condolences, nothing. 

Mitali Bunce is still talking. “...It would be very beneficial for both kingdoms,” She’s saying, and Malcolm nods vaguely. “Don’t you agree, Davy?” No one but Mitali calls him that; everyone just refers to him as Mage. Basil recalls that they went to school together, with his mother and father, and Mitali was close with Lucy Salisbury. 

She’s looking to him expectantly now, but he doesn’t acknowledge her; his face has drained of all color, his gaze locked somewhere behind Baz. He turns, confused, until he sees Simon. Trembling, gorgeous face flushed bright red. Agatha’s still got a hand on his arm, glancing between Mage and Simon, and he looks like he’d fall over if she weren’t holding him up. 

A tense beat passes. The night air is cool on Baz’s skin; his hair shifts in the breeze and he bats it off his face, eyes jumping between Mage and Simon. They seem to be in their own world; Simon swallows, a stupid, showy affair, and Baz’s eyes follow the movement. Mage shifts, not breaking eye contact with the boy. 

They stare at one another a moment longer before, “Simon?” Mage sputters at last, the word faint, breathless. He clears his throat, tries again: “ _ Simon.” _ He takes a step forward, and Simon snaps out of it, flinching in full and backing away. Agatha follows, sensing the tension and taking a defensive stance, halfway in front of Simon. Baz has never loved her more. 

“Get the fuck away from me,” Simon spits, and Baz is taken aback, mouth dropping open. Out of the corner of his eye, Baz watches Penelope and her mother exchange frantic, confused glances. Malcolm watches on, silently perplexed. 

“Simon, I…” Mage starts up again, but stops short, brow furrowed. 

Simon doesn’t say anything for a minute, gazing warily at the man. Quietly, careful not to move so fast as to startle him, Baz makes his way to Simon’s side. He slips his hand into Simon’s, pressing their palms flat and giving a gentle squeeze. He hopes it’s encouraging. 

Straightening, Simon squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath. “Dad,” He says, voice wavering. 

Baz’s brain stops. Reboots. Picks back up again when Mage grunts, “I told you not to call me that.” 

Simon doesn’t miss a beat. “Good thing you don’t control me anymore,” He spits. 

Sighing, Mage runs a hand over his sparse grey hair. “Simon-” He starts again, but Fiona steps in. She’s stayed surprisingly quiet through all of this; uncharacteristically so. 

“Davy,” She starts, holding a placating hand up to him when he tries to speak, “Do you know him?” Though she says it gently, there’s disguised venom in her voice. Simon’s hand clenches in Baz’s.

“He doesn’t,” Simon says tersely, before Davy can speak. A flash of something--pain? Hurt? Rage?-- crosses Mage’s face, but disappears almost immediately. 

“This is my son, Simon,” He says flatly. “We haven’t spoken in… quite some time.” 

Penelope snorts despite herself. Baz can’t help but internally agree.  _ Some time _ , his ass. 

Whirling around to glance at Simon, Fiona grimaces, appraising him. “You’re the Mage’s Heir? That's...” She breathes, “No offense, but I thought you were dead.” 

Simon cracks the slightest of smiles at that. “None taken.” 

Tension still hangs in the air around them. Agatha hasn’t relaxed her stance; if anything, she’s standing even closer to Simon than before, fiercely protective. It’s not hard to imagine why Simon would have run away. Between Davy’s rage, the disappearance of Queen Salisbury, Lady Ruth’s illness, and the disarray the Salisbury kingdom has fallen to, Baz can’t blame him. He thinks, briefly, of Mage shouting at the Pitch staff, of him slamming doors and tearing tapestries off the wall. 

Shuddering, Baz squeezes Simon’s hand again. 

Davy has worked himself right up, blustering and flushing with anger. It’s stark compared to the robotic way he’d introduced Simon as his son. “Simon Oliver Salisbury-” He begins, hands clenching to fists at his side. 

“Snow,” Baz finds himself interrupting, “Simon Oliver Snow.” 

Davy wheels on him. “Shut the fuck up,” He spats, glaring, before looking back towards Snow, who’s paled a shad or two. “You are coming home with me, and when we get home, I am going to-” 

“I think,” Malcolm steps in, “It’s time for you to leave, Davy.” His voice is cool, but there’s an edge to it that makes Davy’s eyebrows furrow.--he shakes his head. “Oh, I insist,” Baz’s father continues, stepping further in front of Mage, “It’s been a long night, and we’re all very tired, aren’t we, Mitali?” 

Professor Bunce nods, looking out of her depth. “Exhausted,” She supplies earnestly. Fiona’s got an arm around her shoulders. 

“I’m not leaving without my son.” Still shaking, Mage is seething, his eyes alight. Against his will, terror starts to seep into Baz’s stomach. He knows Mage won’t hurt him-- that’s not what he’s afraid of. Simon turns and buries his head in Baz’s shoulder, the strength seeming to leave him. It’s like a switch has been flipped, the air has been let out of him. He seems so small pressed to Baz’s side. He doesn’t let go of his hand. 

“I don’t think,” Agatha all but growls, “He’s your son.” She’s got a hand on her hip, over her taser. 

“Davy,” Fiona says, and it’s full of warning. Even in the cool, open courtyard, it feels like all the air has been sucked away. 

Mage grunts, but doesn’t move.

Malcolm sighs, still standing between the kids and Davy. “I’d appreciate it if you would stop harassing a citizen of my kingdom.”

A humorless laugh rips out of Davy. The red is fading from his face. “A citizen of your kingdom? He’s  _ my _ son.” 

“But he lives here, right, boyo?” Fiona asks, glancing at Simon. He picks his head up from Baz’s shoulder to nod, not meeting Mage’s eyes. “So he’s a citizen of Pitch, and the crown prince’s friend.” 

“Friend?” Mage echoes, raising his eyebrows, “Who would want to be friends with a useless brat like-”

Penny takes a step forward, shouting, “Hey!” at the same time Baz roars,“That’s enough.” Beside him, Simon jumps. For a moment Baz is filled with shame, but then Simon shoves his face back into his collar and he couldn’t care less, because he can feel the smile Simon’s pressing into his neck.

“I’m not going to ask you again, Davy,” Malcolm says calmly. 

Mage holds his gaze for one taut moment-- Baz would swear everyone around them has stopped breathing. Out of the corner of his eyes, Baz can see Penny glance at her mother, who only shakes her head. Fiona looks lethal. 

But Davy steps back, breaking eye contact. He opens his mouth, probably to spout another bullshit remark, but gets one look at Fiona and shuts it. 

“Fiona, Mitali, would you walk him out?” Malcolm asks, eying Fiona. Something seems to pass between them. She nods, jaw set, and marches off down the courtyard with Mitali, Mage following reluctantly. 

He tries to look at Simon as he passes, but his eyes are closed; Agatha taps her taser meaningfully. 

Simon doesn’t move once they’re gone. Baz sends his father a meaningful look. Jaw set, Malcolm nods and silently heads back into the castle, leaving Baz, Simon, and the girls. 

A chilly wind whips at Agatha’s hair as she clears her throat, taking a step back from Simon and assuming a more casual stance. She still looks like she’s on high-alert, her eyes darting between Snow and the gates Fiona, Mitali and Mage disappeared to. 

None of them speak for a few minutes. Slowly, like a frightened animal, Baz thinks, Simon detaches himself from his side. He misses the warmth almost immediately. 

Simon looks embarrassed, if not a little shaken up. Penny puts a hand on his shoulder, smiling softly at him. It’s the warmest look Baz has ever seen on her round face. 

“Agatha?” Simon says, quietly. 

“Yes, Simon?” 

His voice is small. “Take me home?” 

“Of course.” She jumps into action, dragging the keys from her pouch (no matter how many times Baz insists it’s a fashion nightmare, she  _ insists _ on the fanny pack). Almost shyly, she offers Simon her hand. He gratefully takes it. 

“Er,” He stutters, glancing at Baz, “Thanks for having me over?” 

He can’t help it-- Baz laughs, a hearty, full-chested thing. 

“Text me when you get home?” He says, smiling in what he hopes is an encouraging way. 

Simon nods. “Yeah.” 

Agatha’s already dragging him off towards the garage. Simon sends him one last look before they’re gone.

With a sigh, Baz turns towards Penelope. “Care for a drink?” 

She looks relieved. “Yes please.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, apologies for how stilted and awkward this chapter turned out. it was really hard to write, partially because I couldn't decide how simon would react, and partially because I'm an abuse victim myself. i antagonized myself over it for ages, but eventually i had to just say fuck it and move on. sorry if it feels weird


	8. Chapter 8

“It makes sense-” Penelope hiccups, “-when you think about it.” Another hiccup. She’s a lightweight if Baz ever did meet one-- they’ve only been at it for twenty minutes, and she’s already sozzled. 

That being said, she’s also on her third glass of wine. Baz has barely sipped his first. 

“I guess so. I can see the resemblance,” He muses, gesturing with his glass, “It’s in the nose.” 

“He has Lucy’s eyes,” Penny agrees. Neither of them remembered Queen Salisbury, of course, but they’d seen enough pictures and heard enough stories. Speaking of- “Guess this means all the myths are bullshit. Just a regular bloke,” Bunce slurs, twirling a lock of red hair--she’d roped him into dying it for her last week--around her finger. 

Baz snorts. “I wouldn’t call Simon a ‘regular bloke’,” He huffs good-naturedly. 

“Only ‘cause you’re in love with him. It’s different.” 

“I’m not-” He stops, looks away. She’s grinning knowingly. He hates her. (Lies, slander, perjury, _bullshit_. He adores Penelope Bunce.) “What do you mean it’s different? He’s bloody brilliant, and the fittest man I’ve ever seen.” 

Her brow furrows. “He’s kinda average, Basil.”

He’s about to debate her on it-- because she couldn’t be more _wrong_ \-- when his phone buzzes in his pocket and he forgets what he was going to say entirely. 

_Simon Snow_

_[8:17pm] im home_

**[8:17pm] good. Are you ok?**

_[8:17pm] honestly no_

**[8:18pm] do you want to talk about it? you don’t have to, and I won’t push, but I’m here if you need me.**

_[8:18pm] i think i’m gonna go to bed, but i’ll explain everything tomorrow_

**[8:18pm] no, not explain. You don’t owe me or anyone an explanation. I just want to help you.**

_[8:19pm] that’s,,,_

_[8:19pm] thank you baz_

_[8:19pm] you’re the best_

**[8:19pm] anything for you simon**

**[8:19pm] that’s what friends are for, right?**

_[8:20pm] yeah. friends._

“What’s with the frown, Bazzy?” 

He’d almost forgotten Penelope was there. Leaning in to peer at his phone--Baz can smell the alcohol on her breath-- she snorts. “‘Friends’? Ouch.” 

Baz glares, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Pass that fucking wine.” 

Cackling, she rolls it towards him, adding a snort for good measure. “Cheers I’ll drink to that bro.”

\------------------------------

Baz wakes up, unceremoniously, to a slew of texts from Simon. It’s not unusual-- Snow wakes up at the crack of dawn like a maniac-- and of course, it begins with his standard _‘gud morning prick <3’ _. (When Baz had reprimanded him for the horrific spelling, it’d only served to encourage him.)

_Simon Snow_

_[7:08am] gud morning prick <3 _

_[7:08am] i feel a little better after sleeping on it_

_[7:08am] so like_

_[7:09am] im the heir of salisbury_

_[7:09am] technically_

_[7:09am] but you probably figured that out by now huh_

_[7:09am] fuck_

_[7:09am] nervous_

_[7:09am] im sorry i didnt tell u before_

_[7:10am] its just like_

_[7:10am] sore subject i guess lmao_

_[7:10am] er like_

_[7:10am] davy wasnt really the best? to me_

_[7:11am] or anyone actually lmao_

_[7:11am] but like_

_[7:11am] me especially_

_[7:11am] it was hard and he was terrible_

_[7:12am] but things got better after i left so i try not to think about it or talk about it_

_[7:12am] and like i have been doing really well especially lately_

_[7:13am] so it was really a shock ig_

_[7:13am] to see him i mean_

_[7:13am] fuck i have to talk to penny too huh_

_[7:14am] not even shepard knows_

_[7:14am] cuz like i never really talk about it i guess_

_[7:14am] to anyone_

_[7:14am] damn i should have waited until you were awake bc this feels weird_

_[7:18am] um i have to go to work now but um can i call you later?_

_[7:18am] i’ll call u when im on break_

_[7:19am] at like 10_

_[7:27am] ok bye baz_

_[10:09am] baz?_

_[10:26am] fuck are u mad?_

_[11:18am] im sorry_

_[11:42am] ok im sorry ill leave you alone_

_[6 Missed Calls from Simon Snow]_

“Fuck!” 

Sitting upright in bed, Baz glances at the clock on the bedside table. _12:19pm._ He throws the sheets off, scrambling towards the bathroom. 

“Siri text Simon Snow.”

The phone chimes, recording. 

“I’m so sorry, I slept in by accident. I’m going to come by the shop. Send text.” 

With shaking hands he tears open his wardrobe, tugging at the first thing he can get his hands on. From the sofa, Penelope lets out a mighty snore. There’s drool pooling beside her left cheek.

“Whoa, whoa.” Startling at the sound, Baz whirls towards the door, clutching a pink button-up to his chest. Agatha is leaning on the frame, arms crossed and one eyebrow cocked. “Where’s the fire?” 

Groaning, Baz slams the wardrobe, heading for the bathroom. He tosses her his phone as he passes her. It’s quick work to get his hair in a bun and his teeth brushed; she’s still scrolling through the messages when he reappears. 

“Shit, dude,” She says finally, reaching over to tug at the collar of his shirt-- he hasn’t bothered to tuck it in, or even button it. “You want me to drive?” 

Shooting her a grateful look, he sighs. “Yes please.”

He texts Penelope on the way, just for something to do. But telling her where the ibuprofen is (as if she hasn’t stayed over enough to know it by heart) only takes half a second, and soon he’s staring out the passenger window, chin in hand. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut, like he’s fucked things up. He knows Simon doesn’t really hold a grudge-- he would understand that Baz had slept in, he wouldn’t be offended that he missed his calls. 

But still, a tiny part of his brain whispered that he’d hurt him. This _was_ a sensitive subject, and he’d chosen to talk to Baz of all people about it. That was something. 

Shifting in his seat, he glances at Agatha, “Can’t you go any faster?” 

“Not without breaking the law, loverboy.” 

“I’m the crown prince, and you’re my bodyguard… we _are_ the law, Wellbelove.” 

She wrinkles her nose at him. “Last name? Ouch. Also, no. We’re not.” 

“We will be.” He can’t help but smirk at her, and she laughs. 

“Your father is alive and well, thank you very much.” 

“Fair point. When are you going to get around to fixing that for me?” 

Sputtering, Agatha gives him a disgruntled look from the driver’s seat. When she responds, her voice is shrill with outrage.“I am _not_ going to kill your father for you, Basil. That’s _treason_.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Is it, though? Oh, we’re here.”

He can’t get out of the car fast enough-- it’s hardly rolled to a stop before he’s springing out the passenger door, slamming it behind him. Behind him, Agatha bids him a hasty ‘good luck’ as he barrels through the flower shop’s doors. Simon hadn’t mentioned which shift he was taking today-- here or across the street. 

There’s a stout, sweaty man behind the counter, facing away from the entrance. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Baz recognizes that this is Nicky, the owner, who Simon’s told him about loads of times. 

(“Get this,” Simon had whispered conspiratorially one day, leaning across the table, “Nicky’s been hooking up with some lady he met online, and it turns out the lady used to date Nicky’s _sister_ , Ebb.” He’d leaned back, folding his arms behind his head, a strange look taking over his face. “I always liked Ebb. She took me in for a while, before she passed the business-- the shop I mean-” He’d gestured around them at the coffee shop, “-To Shep, and he and I hit it off.” 

“Wild,” Baz had agreed half-heartedly, caught up in the way the mole under his left eye disappeared when he smiled.)

“Is Simon here?” Baz pants, giving the man his best glare. 

Without looking up from his phone, he hooks a thumb over his shoulder towards Ebb’s Cafe. Figures. 

When he bursts through the door to the coffee shop, out of breath and frazzled, it’s fairly busy. He’s never seen it this packed. But then again, he’s never been here during the lunch rush. 

It’s easy to spot Simon behind the counter, shooting smiles at customer after customer, his apron covered in an indeterminate spill. To his left, Shepard is making drinks, glasses fogged with steam. As Baz stands in the doorway, the line is only getting longer. Better to wait it out, then. 

So he takes a seat at a table in the corner, ignoring the whispers and not-so-subtle glances from the other customers. This’ll surely be all over Twitter in a matter of minutes, but it doesn't matter. He’s focused only on Simon. (Besides, it’s not like he’s never spotted here- he’s at the shop almost four times a week; it’s not news. The public still believes he’s engaged to Simon, and no one’s corrected them yet.) (Baz hates that he hopes no one ever will, and it’ll just come true like magic.)

It’s like Simon’s a magnet-- all Baz can do is watch. He’s enthusiastic with the customers, bouncing and grinning and greeting the regulars by name. But his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes--the mole never disappears into the creases under his eye-- and he looks tired, almost like he hadn’t slept the night before. The thought makes Baz’s stomach churn with guilt. 

It doesn’t take long for the customers to clear out, hustling back to their offices and cars. Within half an hour, the place has been evacuated, leaving only Baz and a trio of old-timers knitting in the corner, gossiping over a plate of scones. (Simon _does_ make excellent scones.) He watches as Shepard mumbles something to Simon before disappearing into the back. 

Right. Now or never.

Before he can think twice, his legs have carried him to the counter. Simon, with his back to him, doubtlessly knows he’s here, spotted him sitting in the corner and watching him like a creep, most likely. Why is he so goddamn nervous? Baz slams shaking hands onto the counter, bracing himself against it. 

“Simon,” He starts, sounding desperate even to his own ears, “I’m so sorry I missed your calls this morning. I slept in, and-”

“‘S ok.” Simon turns to him, smiling- a real one, not the ones he was giving the customers earlier. “I saw your text, but we got busy before I got a chance to respond.”

Baz blinks, taking in his open face. “You’re… not upset?” 

“No? Why would I be upset?” 

That gives Baz pause. Why would Simon be upset with him? “I…” He swallows, not sure how to finish. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Simon teases good-naturedly, “My, how the turn tables.”

“That’s not how the saying goes.” 

“Says you.”

Rolling his eyes, Baz grins, relief spreading through him. “And the rest of the world.” 

“Maybe the rest of the world is wrong.” Simon shrugs. “Ever think of that?”

“Can’t say I have. Now, can I order a coffee? If you don’t mind?” 

Setting down the rag he’d been holding, Simon squawks, “You say that as if I’ve been holding you up! You’re the one who came running in, all in a tizzy!”

Baz flushes. “What the fuck is a tizzy?” 

“Doesn’t matter. What do you want?” 

“Surprise me.” It’s halfway to a routine by now. After spending countless afternoons here, passing the slow hours chatting idly, Simon’s got his tastes down pat. Sweet, no coconut, always at least a triple. A lot of options-- he always makes Baz something different. It’s hardly a moment before the two of them are huddled over the table closest to the empty bar. 

“No one will be in for another half hour or so,” Simon assures him, “And Shepard isn’t actually on break, he’s studying in the back.” 

“What does he take?” Baz asks conversationally. They haven’t talked much about Shepard-- Baz is still yet to exchange a single word with him, despite running into him loads of times. It’s only the two baristas and one other girl, Phillipa, a bubbly thing who never seems to shut up. (Thankfully, Baz has only had the misfortune of running into her a handful of times. Between her mindless chatter, fawning over Baz, and her insufferably obvious crush on Simon, Baz can’t say he quite likes her.)

Simon says Shepard doesn’t like royals. Baz doesn’t blame him. 

“Engineering. Brilliant, too. I feel like he and Penny would really get along.” 

“They haven’t met?”

“Royals, remember? Besides, he’s got a full plate.” Simon shrugs, gesturing at Baz’s untouched drink. “What do you think it is?” 

Keeping his eyes trained on Simon, Baz takes a slow sip, mulling it over. “Caramel?” 

Simon nods once, face blank. Momentarily, Baz is distracted by a freckle on his right cheek that he could have _sworn_ wasn’t there yesterday. He takes another sip. “Cherry?” 

Cracking a smile, Simon leans back in his chair. “That was fast. D’you like it?” His eyes are wide, earnest and eager. 

“It’s perfect.” Baz replies easily. _You’re perfect._

The afternoon passes quickly, and soon enough Simon is preparing for the next rush. Baz is draped over the counter beside him, watching him work. After a while, Shepard emerges from the back, tying his apron and looking miserable. Tossing his rag in a bucket somewhere at his feet, Simon mutters something about using the restroom before disappearing, leaving Baz and Shepard staring awkwardly at one another. 

Baz clears his throat, sticking a hand out in what he hopes is a friendly manner. “Basil Pitch,” He introduces himself, smiling, “But you can call me Baz. All my friends do.” 

For a beat, Shepard doesn’t move, eyes flicking back and forth between Baz’s face and outstretched hand. Baz almost thinks he’s not going to take it, but then something softens in his face and he grins. 

“Shaking hands is for losers,” He says nonchalantly, holding up a fist. Baz bumps him, finding himself grinning back. “You’ve been here a lot,” Shepard points out, moving to stand by the register, “Simon really likes you, you know. Won’t shut up about you. It’s sweet.” 

Baz can’t help the way his heart skips a beat at that; it must be written all across his face because Shepard laughs easily. “You two would be so good together, you know?” 

Before Baz can reply with something embarrassing, Simon’s coming back, all curls and smiles and sunshine. “What’d I miss?” 

“Nothing,” Shepard shrugs, meeting Baz’s eye, “Just making friends.” 

Simon lights up completely and immediately, “Fucking finally! My two favorite people are _friends_ now, thank _god._ ” His expression falters comically. “I mean, my two favorite people besides Penny.” 

“I’m telling,” Baz teases, and Simon turns to him, wide-eyed.

Putting a hand on his chest, he narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Baz replies faux-sweetly. 

“Please don’t! She’ll kill me! I know she knows how!” Taking in his pleading expression, Baz only harrumphs. “Please, Baz. I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?”

“Anything.” Simon agrees uneasily, eyeing him warily. 

“Then perish.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall see what i did with ebb and nicky and fiona's "internet man"? i feel a little clever
> 
> also one of my fave tropes is character A thinking character B is the most beautiful person in the world, just thinks they're so pretty, and everyone else being like z"??? they're just average???"


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this one is kinda short, sorry.

Baz is hardly through the door before Malcolm is on him. “Where were you?” 

“With Simon.” It comes out evenly, casual, but really Baz is freaking out. He’d been euphoric, leaving the shop--seeing Simon does that-- and had been thoroughly enjoying his ride home, until Agatha just had to remind him he missed an important press conference. 

“Basil,” Malcolm sighs, “I understand that you need time with your…  _ friend _ ,” Something about the way he says it makes Baz recoil, “But you can’t just shirk your responsibilities! Did you ask him?” 

Baz’s stomach drops. Yet another thing he’d forgotten. “No, but I will tonight.” 

“You’re seeing him again?” 

“I’ll text him,” Baz snaps, meeting Malcolms gaze. He looks tired. “Father, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” He says tersely, “Long day.” 

Baz nods. “I’ll ask him. See you at dinner.”

_ Simon Snow _

**[7:09pm] Question for you**

_ [7:09pm] sup ur majesty _

**[7:10pm] don’t call me that**

_ [7:10pm] course, ur majesty _

**[7:10pm] must you be difficult?**

_ [7:10pm] yep! _

_ [7;11pm] whats ur question _

**[7:11pm] my cousin is getting married next month**

_ [7:11pm] cool? _

**[7:11pm] I’m expected to go**

_ [7:12pm] haha sucker _

**[7:12pm] you don’t like weddings?**

_ [7:13pm] i love weddings _

_ [7:13pm] you just dont seem too happy to go _

**[7:13pm] I’m very happy for them**

_ [7:13pm] ok….? _

**[7:14pm] I’m expected to go, and I’m expected to bring a plus one. Agatha notwithstanding**

_ [7:14pm] that’s cool. who r u gonna bring? _

_ [7:15pm] penny prolly? _

**[7:15pm] …**

**[7:15pm] are you being stupid on purpose?**

_ [7:16pm] obviously _

**[7:16pm] so is that a yes?**

_ [7:16pm] yes what _

**[7:17pm] Simon.**

_ [7:17pm] yes bazzy? _

**[7:17pm] don’t be difficult.**

_ [7:17pm] but its funnnn _

**[7:18pm] Snow.**

_ [7:18pm] u called me simon before _

**[7:18pm] false.**

_ [7:19pm] [Screenshot Attached] receipts motherfucker _

**[7:19pm] did not know photoshop was in your repertoire of skills**

_ [7:20pm] dont know what that word means but like i think that was rude _

**[7:20pm] just answer me please?**

_ [7:20pm] you have to actually ask me first _

**[7:20pm] I did**

_ [7:21pm] no u didnt. do it for real _

**[7:21pm] christ.**

**[7:21pm] Simon Snow, will you go to my cousin’s wedding with me?**

_ [7:22pm] yes of course <3 _

_ [7:22pm] see that wasnt so hard bazzy _

**[7:22pm] you’re insufferable**

_ [7:23pm] sounds fake but ok _

_ [7:23pm] can i ask u a question now? _

**[7:23pm] anything.**

_ [7:23pm] it doesnt bother you? _

_ [7:23pm] that im. u know. _

_ [7:24pm] the ‘mage’s heir’ and all that bullshit _

**[7:24pm] of course it doesn’t bother me. I like you no less for it**

_ [7:24pm] why do u always talk so posh goddamn _

_ [7:24pm] and it doesnt bother u i didn’t tell you?  _

_ [7:25pm] i swear i was going to i just didnt know when the best time was or how to or what to say and it freaked me out _

_ [7:25pm] i just really dont want you to leave _

**[7:25pm] hey. I’m not going to leave. you can’t get rid of me that easily, even if you tried.**

**[7:26pm] I’m not mad. At all. About any of it.**

_ [7:26pm] really? _

**[7:26pm] really.**

_ [7:26pm] asdsjndlbkm;lndaf ur the fucking best _

_ [7:27pm] now wish me luck i gotta go talk to penny bout it _

**[7:27pm] what do you need luck for? She won’t be mad either**

_ [7:27pm] oh i know, she’s just gonna have so many questions lmao _

**[7:28pm] you’re not obligated to answer them. It’s your decision**

_ [7:28pm] i know. i wanna answer them i think. most of them lmao _

**[7:28pm] I wouldn’t be opposed to asking some questions myself, but another time.**

**[7:29pm] good luck**

_ [7:29pm] thanks  _

Baz rolled over in bed, flinging his phone aside and burying his face in the pillows, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please fill the comment section with fairy comments. i havent felt something since the 80s.


	10. Chapter 10

_ Simon Snow _

_ [8:01am] good morning asshat _

_ [8:02am] hey is penny going to dev and niall’s wedding? she must be, right? _

**[8:02am] of course she is**

_ [8:02am] damn i’m surprised ur up this early _

_ [8:03am] what are the odds i can convince her to bring shepard as her plus one _

**[8:03am] high.**

**[8:03am] she has been scrambling to find someone**

_ [8:04am] fuck yeah _

**[8:04am] will shepard even want to go? I thought he hated royals. It took forever for him to even look at me**

_ [8:05am] he’s starting to come around _

_ [8:05am] u convinced him they aren’t so bad _

**[8:06am] We barely even spoke. I’m flattered**

_ [8:06am] dont be tooooooo flattered tho _

_ [8:07am] dont need to inflate ur ego more than it already is _

**[8:08am] ouch. you wound me**

_ [8:08am] haha get fucked _

_ [8:08am] ok i gotta go to work love u bye _

Baz has to blink at the screen a few times, trying to figure out if he’s hallucinating. “ _ Love u bye.” _ No, it’s definitely there. A wide grin spreads across his face-- he’s like some lovesick protagonist in Agatha’s mangas.  _ Disgusting, _ he thinks, even as he’s typing out a response.

**[8:09am] when do u get off**

_ [8:09am] idk usually in the shower _

**[8:09am] Haha, you’re sooooo funny.**

_ [8:10am] i know right? _

_ [8:10am] my shift ends at 4. y? _

**[8:10am] where do you live?**

_ [8:11am] …..why _

**[8:11am] I’m coming over, obviously.**

_ [8:11am] how do i know u arent gonna kill me or smth _

**[8:11am] if I were going to kill you, I definitely would have done it by now. Saved myself quite a bit of trouble.**

_ [8:12am] rude, but tru _

_ [8:12am] [Location Sent] _

**[8:12am] great. See you in a few hours. Have fun at work.**

_ [8:13am] bet _

\---------------------

The apartment isn’t hard to find. Simon should be home by now; it’s already 4:30. 

(“Stupid prince,” Agatha had grumbled under her breath on the drive over, “Making me miss 420 so he can see his stupid boyfriend.”) (Baz hadn’t corrected her.)

It’s a nice building, painted a cheerful blue and white. The windows and balconies are crawling with flowers and ferns, a few flags-- lived in, alive. 

The car door slams behind Baz and Agatha’s hobbling up the steps behind him, the pizza balanced in one hand. “What apartment?” She huffs, blowing a stray hair out of her face, “And why aren’t  _ you _ holding this, again?” 

“61B,” He supplies, ignoring her other question. The inside is just as cozy, with an empty reception desk to one side and a brass buzzer on the other. Shrugging, he presses it. 

“One sec,” Simon’s voice is muffled and distorted by the machine. “K, come up.” 

“Best behaviour, Basil,” Wellbelove chides good-naturedly as they make their way up the stairs. 

“Same to you,” He sneers, but there’s no bite to it. His legs shake as he makes his way up the endless stairs. (Broken elevator, because of course.) After all the time they’ve spent together, Baz is finally going to see this side of Simon. 

They’ve hardly reached the landing before a door on the right is swinging open, Simon’s head poking out. He grins at them, smile widening even more when his eyes land on the pizza in Agatha’s hands. “Fuck yeah,” He breathes. 

Baz chuckles, “Are you ever not hungry?” 

“No,” Simon shrugs, “Not that I can remember.” Stepping aside and letting the door swing all the way open, he giggles. Eyes closed and nose scrunched, mouth open in a wide grin, he looks so carefree, so alive. Baz finds himself smiling back at him. 

Albeit messy, the apartment is nice, cozy. Three walls are a pretty burnt orange and the other is all window, facing a park across the street. A worn leather sofa lines end, the kitchen taking up the opposite side of the flat. “It’s nice,” Agatha muses, toeing her shoes off, “Just you?” 

Simon shakes his head. “Shepard lives with me, but he’s closing.” He heads off to the kitchen to grab plates, leaving Baz alone in the foyer while Aggie pokes her head through a door to their left. 

“Don’t do that,” Baz hisses at her, “No spying. Best behaviour, remember?” 

Shooting him a smirk over her shoulder, she huffs. “I never promised.” 

Before Baz can scold her, Simon is returning with plates and napkins. Sunlight streams through the windows, spinning gold in his curls and dimples. Baz, fleetingly, is reminded of the day they first met, him spread like honey over the sheets. He flushes involuntarily, looking away. 

“You better not have put pineapple on that pizza, or I’m suing. Never speaking to either of you again. A plague on both your houses, cursing your family names for eternity, blocking you, reporting you, never speak to me or my son ever again-” 

“There isn’t any pineapple,” Baz cuts him off, “Agatha wanted it, but I vetoed.” 

Comic relief floods Simon’s face. “My hero,” He brings a hand to his forehead, faking a swoon and almost dropping the plates.

“You’re both cowards.” Huffing, Agatha drops into a chair at the small, round table. “I’m starving. Stop flirting and feed me.” 

“We weren’t-” Simon starts, but stops, rolling his eyes. “Here.” 

They eat in relative silence-- Simon eats like a pig, still. No matter how many times Baz has tried to instill even a meagre few manners into him, he refuses. They never stick. Agatha looks appalled, grimacing and glaring. 

“Did you ask Shepard yet?” Baz asks conversationally.

Simon looks up from his third slice, swallowing. “Yeah. He said he’d think about it. I think he’ll come around.”

“What?” Agatha asks, glancing between them. 

“I want Shepard to bring Penny to what’s-their-face’s wedding.” 

“Dev and Niall,” Baz corrects automatically. “Which, about that. I feel like I should warn you: Mage’s going to be there.” 

Across from him, Simon inhales sharply. 

“I’ll be on Davy duty,” Agatha volunteers immediately, watching Simon’s face anxiously. “I’ll keep an eye on him and make sure he stays the fuck away from you.”

For a minute, it looks like Simon’s going to protest, his mouth opening and his brows furrowing, but after a moment he deflates. With a nod, he sighs. “Thank you, Agatha. You’re a good friend.” 

“It’s what I do.” She replies proudly, puffing out her chest comically. 

Baz kicks Simon lightly under the table. “What am I, chopped liver?” 

Giving him an appraising look, Simon laughs. “No. More like rotten onions.” 

“Excuse me, I am the crown prince-”

“So?” 

“-this is treason-”

“-totally isn’t.” 

“-I can have you thrown in  _ jail _ -”

“Don’t listen to him; he can’t do that.”

“I  _ can _ and I  _ will _ -”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did the whole mage's heir thing feel anticlimactic? (i feel like this whole story is anticlimactic lmao)
> 
> also, yes, my version of agatha is a lesbian who smokes weed and reads manga, what are you gonna do about it?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is no plot also you can tell I was losing steam writing this chapter

  
  


The night before the wedding, pacing his room, Baz calls Simon. 

“You’re sure you want to do this? I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to, and Davy will be there and there will undoubtedly be a lot of paparazzi, and-”

There’s a smile in Simon’s voice when he cuts him off, “I’m sure. It’ll be fun, and besides-- it’s another chance to mess with the media.” Baz can imagine him shrugging on the other end of the line. “Unless you don’t think it’s a good idea. Are you chickening on me now?”

Baz scoffs. “You wish.” Pausing, he leans against the wall beside his bed. “I’m excited to see you tomorrow,” He breathes, half-hoping Simon doesn't hear him. It’d been a long week-- Simon had been swamped with work, and Baz had been roped into wedding preparations and the bachelor party. (“Do I  _ have  _ to?” He’d all but whined. “You’re my best man, Basil. Yes, you have to.”)

Simon chuckles into the receiver. “Me too. Who’s gonna be a stuck up prick if you’re not around?” He teases, but he sounds tired. 

“I’m hanging up on you,” Baz warns, and Simon laughs again. Even through the muffled phone, it’s Baz’s favorite sound. “Get some rest.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do. See you at noon.” 

“Goodbye, Snow.” The line clicks off and he scrubs a hand down his face. The plan was to meet at Simon’s place at noon, and then head out to the venue-- it was a two hour drive. After a lot of whining and whinging, Simon had, in fact, convinced Shepard to attend with Penny. 

Baz had been fortunate enough to witness that meeting in person, sat at the shop’s counter and sipping his drink-- an iced vanilla cherry latte, this time. (Simon was just getting more and more creative with his mystery beverages; Baz hadn’t gotten the same thing twice.) Shepard was on break, spending it, for once, with Simon and Baz. Over the past few weeks, he’s started to warm up to the prince, much to Baz’s relief. They got along fairly well, after all, bonding over teasing Simon. 

It’d been slow enough that they all turned when the door chimed, Penelope Bunce herself strolling in like she owned the place. “Simon,” She had said loudly, adjusting her cheesy cat-eye glasses, “I would like some coffee.” 

Simon had snorted, slapping down his rag and grinning at her. “Hey Pen. The usual?” 

“Usual?” Shepard had sputtered, eyes darting between Simon and Penelope, “I’ve never seen this girl in my life, how does she have a usual?” 

“That’s Penelope,” Baz chimed in helpfully, “Penelope Bunce. The official Duchess of Bunce.” 

“Duke,” Penelope had corrected easily, throwing on warm around Baz’s shoulders playfully. Leaning over him, she snatched his cup out of his hand, sniffing at it cautiously before taking a sip. “This one’s good. Cherry? I should have known you’d be here, Basil. You and Simon are practically stitched together by the hip.” 

Baz opened his mouth to correct her (that wasn’t how the phrase went, was it?) but opted instead to roll his eyes at her, taking his cup back. 

Bunce’s ‘usual’ turned out to be black cold brew, much to Baz’s disgust. Shepard had glared at her for half her stay, until she’d snapped at him, “Take a damn picture, it’ll last longer.” At that, Simon had snorted, earning a look from Shepard. 

“How do you know so many damn royals?” He’d huffed, but there was hardly any bite in his voice. Though he tried to look put out, Baz could tell Shepard was warming up to Penny. She was sat right on the counter, legs swinging back and forth like a child. Baz poked her in the thigh and she swatted at him, but she was smiling. 

Simon just shrugged. “Accident.” 

“What kind of accidents lead to the  _ crown prince _ ?” 

“The drunk kind. When  _ you _ inevitably abandon me at some party.” 

Shepard had the decency to look ashamed, rubbing at the back of his neck and avoiding Simon’s eyes. “Fair point.” 

Baz moves now towards his bed, sinking into the mattress. He really should get some sleep. It was late, and it’d be awfully hypocritical of him to stay up after telling Simon to rest. 

As if on cue, there’s a soft rap on the door. Without waiting for a response, Agatha strolls in, a cup of tea clutched in one hand and her phone in the other. 

“I assumed you’d be up,” She says by way of greeting, “I brought you this. Should make you sleepy.” 

Grinning, Baz takes the tea from her. “Thanks. Is everything set up for tomorrow?” He asks, trying to hide the anxiety in his voice but failing miserably. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, man. It’s all set up. Penny is going to go over there bright and early to help Simon and Shep get ready, and we’ll meet them at the apartment. Nothing to worry about.” 

“‘Shep?’” 

“Shepard,” Agatha tells him, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It is.

“No, I got that. I meant since when do you have a nickname for Shepard?” 

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not  _ my _ nickname for him; everyone calls him that. And I dunno, we’ve been talking lately. He’s nice. Kinda funny.” 

Huh. Baz doesn’t say anything, falling back into the pillows. Baz sipping his tea and Agatha staring off into space, they sit in silence. That’s one of Baz’s favorite things about Agatha: the comfortable silence. They’ve known each other so long that there’s no need to fill the void with meaningless idle chatter.

After a while, the tea does make him sleepy, like she’d promised. The anxiety starts to dissipate, and he sets the tea on the bedside table, tugging the covers up around him. Agatha, feeling the shift in the bedsheets, glances up as if startled, before her face melts into a soft look reserved for him. Carefully, she stands, moving towards the door. 

“Wait,” He mumbles, feeling heavy as he sinks further into the blankets. Wordlessly, he pats the pillow beside him with leaden arms. 

Cuddling isn’t new for them, of course-- she isn't surprised in the slightest. A habit of their childhood that never disappeared. Quietly, she opens the door, laughing. “I have to go get my pajamas first, but I’ll come back.” 

It’s only a few minutes before she comes back-- Baz is half-asleep and falling fast when the mattress shifts under her weight. She shimmies closer to him under the mountain of covers and he throws an arm around her haphazardly. 

“Night,” She whispers, tucking her head under his chin. 

He ‘mph’s back at her and she giggles softly, breath warm and light. It’s not long before they’re both dozing off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's short lmao


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this isn't e x a c t l y the wedding you've been hoping for, but i tried. i've never been to a wedding lmao so idk how they work. actually, i went to one when i was 3 i think.

  
  


After a hectic morning and ride to the venue, it’s a relief to be out in the open air. Baz folds himself out of the passenger seat and stretches, watching the rest of the crew climb from Agatha’s sleek black car. She herself is grumbling beside him about the drive, something about not being a chauffeur. In a pale blue dress and heels, she’s gorgeous, of course. (She’d bullied Niall into letting her pick the colors for the bridesmaids’ dresses, saying it was her right as the maid of honor. She’d won when Dev agreed with her, much to Niall’s chagrin.) 

The wedding is a fairly small one, considering. There’s limited press-- all inside. Along the walkway where Baz and the others stand, there are tiny white lights strung across a wooden structure overhead, leading to the wide double doors. 

It’s breathtaking.

Dev sidles up beside Baz, startling him. “So, whaddya think, cuz?”

“Decent,” Baz sniffs, “Congratulations, and all that.” 

Simon leans over him, smiling widely. “Hi, Dev. Congrats.” His elbow lands in Baz’s ribs. “Baz is just being a sourpuss.” 

“Typical,” Dev agrees easily. Aside from the getaway from the coffee shop, Simon and Dev hadn’t spent much time together. (Although Baz spends enough time talking about Simon that Dev and Niall both would attest they knew the blond fairly well.)

Baz snorts. “I hope you weren’t expecting otherwise.” 

Donning his best puppy dog eyes, Dev pouts. “Won’t you be nice for a little while, Mr. Grinch? It’s my  _ wedding _ .”

With a huff, Baz turns his head grumpily. Of course, he’s happy for them, but being difficult is sort of his brand. 

“Aw, come on,” Simon pipes up, sliding an arm through Baz’s and looking up at him with the biggest, most pleading eyes he can muster. Much better than Dev’s by any measure. Baz’s cousin looks more constipated than anything. “For me?” 

(When Agatha and Baz had arrived at the apartment, ready to go, Baz had spent a good few minutes locked in the bathroom, panic tearing at him. For everything he’d been through in life, all the etiquette training, all the work he’d put into building up a cocky, boasting mask, nothing had prepared him for Simon Snow in a suit. Penny had laughed her arse off at the flush in his cheeks, earning a glare that could kill any mere mortal. She wasn’t fazed.) Now, standing beside him in the twinkling lights and framed by the cloudy sky, he looks as devastatingly handsome as ever, smirking up at him. 

And that’s it, Baz is fucked. “Whatever,” He deadpans, but he can feel the corners of his lips quirking up traitorously. 

Simon pumps his free hand in victory. “What’s Nice Baz like? I don’t think I’ve met him…” He muses playfully, tapping a finger against his chin in faux thought. Hiding his amusement, Baz scowls.

“Me neither.” Agatha chimes in, grinning. Behind her, Penny and Shepard are bickering, in one another’s faces. With her hands on her hips and face scrunched, Bunce looks almost like an enraged pug in tuele, Baz thinks. Shepard looks like he’s fearing for his life, and rightfully so. 

“Let’s get this show on the road already,” Simon says, grinning sunnily, “I wanna see the inside!”

The ceremony is brief and sweet, the vows short. The reception is in the adjoining hall, with a large dance floor and an army of round, white table-clothed tables. It’s a blur of champagne and hors d’oeuvres and dancing; everything’s gone hazy and warm around the edges. 

Messing around with their friends, mingling with dukes and lords and the like, cheesily dancing and making the stupidest faces, Simon is beside Baz the whole time. He can hear the other guests whispering about them, but he can hardly find it in him to care, not when Simon is looking at him like that and dragging him onto the dancefloor, laughing like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

“Do you actually know how to dance?” Baz asks, watching Simon shuffle around the floor enthusiastically. 

Cheeks red, Simon flashes him that crooked smile he loves. “Not in the slightest,” He breathes, holding out a hand with a wink that makes Baz flush despite himself, “Wanna teach me?” 

Baz takes his hand. 

God may have endowed Simon Snow with the prettiest eyes Baz had ever seen and the sunniest disposition in the world, but He’d balanced it with two left feet. Each stumble makes Baz chuckle, heart stuttering in his chest. One hand is at Simon’s waist, the other on his shoulder. They’re so close, he can feel warm puffs of breath on his lips, can count each golden freckle and mole, see the faint tinge of pink on those soft cheeks. 

“You’re breaking my poor toes,” Baz tries to growl, but it comes out much too fond for his own good. 

“Mission accomplished then,” Simon giggles, fingertips pressing insistently on his shoulder. When Baz meets his gaze, his lashes flutter and he smiles wider. 

Baz clears his throat. “Look at my feet,” He instructs, looking away, “Watch how I move them, and follow me.”

Simon nods, glancing down between them at Baz’s shiny dress shoes. Narrowing his eyes, he’s concentrating, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Baz takes a moment to appreciate the sight. 

As the night wears on, Simon improves, feet starting to move in time. They stay like that for a few songs, bodies drifting closer. Simon’s hand shifts slowly from Baz’s shoulder, wrapping around his back and pulling them tighter together. Heartbeat in his throat but never one to be one-upped, Baz slides his own hand downwards, landing on Simon’s hip-- he revels in the hitch in Simon’s breath, right by his ear now. 

After a while dancing devolves into gentle swaying, the music slowing into Regina Spektor’s  _ Samson _ . In the back of his mind, Baz can recall his mother singing it to him in the nursery. He smiles.

Here, with Simon’s head pressed to his shoulder, Baz could die happy. He never wants to leave, never wants to be rid of the silken, sweet feeling in his bones or the warm fluttering breath on his neck. Over Simon’s broad shoulder he can see Penelope and Shepard slow dancing, to his surprise-- getting along for once. Dev and Niall are beside the pair, looking entirely too happy in love. There’s a pretty curly-haired girl chatting with a blushing Agatha near the bar. With everyone he cares about in reach and the world swaying in his arms, Baz feels happier than he has in a long time. 

“I like this,” Simon whispers into his suit jacket; it’s soft, and Baz has to strain to hear him.

“What was that, love?” It just slips out. That’s the second time. Cursing internally, he holds his breath a moment, but Simon just laughs. 

“You’re silly,” He says lightly. Baz can feel him smiling into him. Everything is silver. 

_ You are my sweetest downfall _ , the speakers croon. Simon’s arm tightens over his shoulder.  _ I loved you first, I loved you first. _

At length, the song tapers out, and the moment fades. Simon pulls back slowly, prying himself away piece by piece. Part of Baz is disappointed, wanting to hold him forever, but a greater part of him is making him smile warmly at Simon. 

“It’s late,” Simon says softly, flushing. 

Baz nods. “Come on, we have morons to collect.” 

It’s difficult to disentangle Agatha and the redhead, now wrapped up in each other against the wall. Baz grimaces while Simon drags her away. 

“Text me,” Agatha calls behind them as they head out, Penelope and Shepard already waiting by the door. With a quick goodbye to the newlyweds, they’re bursting out into the crisp October night. 

Waiting for them are a whole slew of reporters-- the uninvited kind. (There’d been a few inside, but only the trusted, well-respected kind. These were decidedly  _ not _ that.) 

“Prince Pitch! Over here!” “Mr. Snow, can I ask you a few questions? What’s it like dating the Crown Prince?” “Pitch, can you comment on your father’s latest welfare policy?” “Over here!” “Mr. Pitch!” “Snow!” 

Baz growls, taking Simon’s hand. He looks out of his depth, eyes darting frantically between the reporters. In the back of his mind, Baz wonders if he ever had to deal with anything like this in his childhood. 

“Outta the way, coming through!” Agatha is saying, pushing in front of the others and holding her hands up. Half the reporters shrink away-- Agatha has a reputation as a force to be reckoned with. Persistent still, the others surge forward, but step aside when Agatha barrels forward, Penelope on her heels, dragging an anxious Shepard with her. Shrugging, Simon follows them, keeping his head down. 

Dodging a particularly close vulture, Baz holds his chin up, straightening his shoulders and strutting after the others. Someone’s pulled the car around already, and they’re piling in quickly. Simon stops and turns, waiting for Basil. there’s a fluttering in his stomach at that. The walkway feels longer than it was coming in, stretching out before him for miles, Simon waiting patiently at the end. It’s almost like a fever dream, distorted and too bright. 

When he’s drawn level with the blond boy, he glances over his shoulder at the reporters, still snapping pictures, though the shouting has died down. One woman pushes a little too close, eager. 

“Mr. Snow, Prince Pitch, won’t you show us a little love? Just one kiss, for the camera!” She yells, brandishing her camera like a weapon. Her smile is wolfish, predatory. 

Baz tries to turn away, tugging at Simon’s hand, but he’s rooted to the spot. When Baz glances at him confusedly, there’s a strange look on his face. 

“Simon?” 

His eyes dart over, meeting Baz’s. He turns, the odd look still in place as he brings a hand up to cup Baz’s cheek. Everything inside him goes into overdrive, focused on that one spot-- the warmth of Simon’s palm, the way his fingers fit right behind his ear, the callouses scratching against his jaw. He’s leaning closer still, eyes determined. “...Simon?” He repeats, a mere whisper, “What’re you-”

There’s soft lips against his, for the barest of moments. Before Baz can comprehend it, push back, respond, do  _ anything _ , Simon is pulling away, flashing him a crooked smile. 

Simon Snow just  _ kissed _ him. It’s a wonder he’s still standing. If the press weren’t right there, watching like hawks and snapping lethal cameras, he’d pinch himself. 

“Let’s  _ go _ ,” Penny calls from the car, leaning through the open backseat. 

Snapping his gaze away from Simon’s, he scrambles into the car, still in a daze. 

As soon as the doors are slammed shut, Agatha’s tearing out of the lot. Baz always has hated her driving, especially when he’s folded into the passenger seat- a front row view. 

Except now he can’t even find it in him to be nauseous, preoccupied with the ghost of Simon’s lips and that little smile. It’d happened so fast-- Baz wasn’t expecting it, and then it was over. The taste of champagne and the smell of cinnamon linger in his mind, the heat and the proximity gnawing at him.

He finds Simon’s face in the rearview mirror, eyes flicking down towards his lips involuntarily. Simon, outlined in silver from passing streetlamps (Baz hadn’t even realized how late it really was; the reception had been  _ hours _ ), is saying something to Shepard, animated and carefree. There’s a light flush on his cheeks still, and his eyes dart to Baz’s in the mirror, as if he’d felt him watching. Immediately, Baz glances away, pretending instead to be listening to the conversation.

Shepard is yapping about how beautiful the venue was, Penelope leaning into his shoulder from the hump seat (even with the added height, she doesn’t reach his eyes). Baz is surprised to see her hand wrapped snugly around his bicep. That’s new. 

“It really was gorgeous,” Penelope agrees easily, toying with the hem of her dress. 

“Yeah, and Davy didn’t bother me once,” Simon says, leaning back into his seat. In the mirror, Baz can see his eyelids drooping and his shoulders slumping against the leather. 

“It’s strange, I didn’t see him there at all,” Agatha muses from the driver's seat, eyes trained on the road. “He was definitely invited.” 

Penny snorts. “Mum said he’s sick,” She huffs, “But it could be a load of bollocks.” 

Nose scrunching in adorable distaste, Simon grumbles, “I hope he is. Serves him right.”

Agatha laughs at that, loud and unhindered. She’s definitely had a bit to drink.

Penny seems to notice it too. “Aggie, pull over.” 

“Sure,” Agatha says, shrugging. She maneuvers the car to the shoulder of the road. It’s fairly deserted, a back road surrounded by trees. 

Scrambling over Simon’s lap, Penny grumbles, “I’m driving. Switch with me.” 

For a moment Agatha looks like she’s going to pitch a fit, but seems to think better of it. “Fine, but I can’t sit in the back. I get carsick.”

“Basil?” Bunce says, opening her car door. 

Baz rolls his eyes but nods, getting out of the car himself. The switch is quick, though Agatha insists she wants to sit outside for a minute. 

“Come on, Wellbelove,” Baz goads, “Unless you’re going to throw up, we need to get going. It’s late.” 

“I’m  _ not _ going to throw up, Baz, I’m not  _ drun- _ ” She’s cut off with a small hiccup. Accepting defeat, she climbs into the passenger seat, Baz getting into the seat behind her. To make things easier, Simon has scooted into the middle, putting him to Baz’s left-- it’s not the biggest car, usually only carrying Agatha and Baz-- Simon’s shoulder brushes against the prince’s. From hip to knee their legs are pressed together, heat emanating from Simon and sending a shiver down Baz’s spine as he buckles in. As he reaches over to put the belt in the lock, Simon leans to fix his shoe, bringing their faces only an inch apart. 

Simon pauses, eyes wide. There’s a small golden fleck in his right eye that Baz had never noticed before, never been close enough to see. He’s transfixed. “Hi,” He breathes. 

Simon swallows, one of his showiest ones yet, echoing, “Hi.” 

The air between them is electric; Baz’s fingers are ignited as Simon takes his hand. Something he read in an old book flits across his mind:  _ this will end in flames. _ If Baz weren’t watching so closely, breath held, he’d miss the flicker of Simon’s eyes to his lips. He shudders again.

“Can you not do that right now?” Shepard interrupts, “I’m right here.” 

Simon shoots upright in his seat, staring straight ahead. Penelope snorts. 

Simon doesn’t let go of Baz’s hand the whole way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the girl aggie is chatting up is ginger. she doesn't make a comeback in this story, i just wanted you to know that little fact. 
> 
> [samson, the song they were dancing to](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p62rfWxs6a8)
> 
> [reminder that you should join the server and make some ew friends! haha just kidding...,., unLESS](https://discord.gg/Z68hNRg)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *inserts dev and niall for like five minutes, then immediately takes them away*

Dev and Niall come by a few days later, while Simon is visiting, nestled into Baz’s pillows and scrolling through Netflix for a movie. Agatha is off somewhere, likely getting stoned, so Dev and Niall find the two of them alone, chatting quietly about what to watch. 

Things have been tense the past few days-- they hadn’t talked about the kiss. But sometimes Baz will turn his head and Simon will be staring at him with big eyes, flushing and stuttering and looking away. 

They’ve finally settled on  _ Moonlight _ when the door bangs open. Rolling his eyes, Simon reluctantly pauses the movie. 

“Oh, you’re here.” Dev says, squinting at Simon and climbing onto Baz’s desk. 

“Er, yeah.” 

“Did you see this?” Niall asks, tossing Baz a magazine. Huffing, he unfurls it: the front page is a spread of their chaste kiss from the wedding, underlined with the words, “Crown Couple Finally Seals The Deal! Engagement Details Inside!” 

“‘Engagement details inside’?” Baz mocks, “What engagement details? There’s no engagement!” Curiously, Simon peers over his shoulder at the magazine. 

Niall spins around in the desk chair to face them. “Now that Dev and I are finally married, the focus is on you and Simon.”

“Sorry, mate,” Dev shrugs, looking entirely unapologetic about it, “We could only distract them so long.” 

“What I don’t get,” Sitting up on the bed, Simon groans, “Is why they think we’re engaged in the first place. I mean, sure, we hang out a lot, so it would make sense if we were dating, but why engaged? Isn’t that a big step?” 

Dev snorts. “You know how it is. With royals, not only is everything blown out of proportion immediately, but every step is supposed to mean something. Baz is the Crown Prince, so he is destined to marry someone to further his family’s status. So people can only assume this is that move.”

“Plus,” Niall adds, “The media is always quick to twist things into anything remotely scandalous. People eat that shit up like candy.” 

Letting out a frustrated noise, Simon flops back onto the pillows. 

“So what do we do about it?” Baz asks, glancing between Dev and Niall. They exchange a meaningful look.

“You get married, idiot,” Niall says, like it’s the most obvious thing. 

“What?!” Simon sputters, shooting up again. His expression is one of surprise, ears red. “I can’t get married!” 

Part of Baz is stung, but mostly he’s amused. 

“Aw, Snow, you don’t want to marry me?” He coos, watching Simon’s cheeks turn as red as his ears. 

“No-that’s not what I meant. I mean, uh- Aren’t we a little young for that?” 

Dev grins. “No. Look at us.” 

“But you’ve known each other for years! I met Baz six months ago!” 

Rolling his eyes, Baz moves away from Simon on the bed. “You know, I  _ am _ supposed to marry Bunce next April.” He shrugs in faux nonchalance, “Unless I’m married before then, that is.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow suggestively at Simon, whose eyes widen like a cartoon character. 

“Er- I mean- Uh-” He sputters, eyebrows all but lost in his hairline. 

Sighing dramatically, Baz falls back into the blankets at Simon’s feet. “Ah, what a shame. The biggest homo in all of Europe, married off to a woman. My little gay heart probably couldn’t take it.” To top it off, he flails an arm dramatically, pretending to fan himself. 

“N-No! You can’t marry Penny!”

Opening one eye, Baz turns his head to look at Simon, grinning in what he hopes is a seductive manner. “Oh? And why not?” 

If it were possible, Simon would be flushing even darker, “Because! I said so!” 

“Mm,” Baz’s eyes slip shut again, “I love it when you tell me what to do.” 

Dev and Niall break out in laughter from the desk. Simon drags a pillow over his face, kicking his legs around beside Baz’s head. 

“Hey, hey, stop that! This is assault,” Baz mutters, latching onto an ankle, “I’m taking you to court,” He adds, yanking Simon towards him. Letting out a shout, Simon drops the pillow in his hands and giggles. When he’s within an arm's length, Baz jolts up, whirling towards him with his hands bared like claws. 

“I’m gonna tickle the shit out of you,” He threatens, leering over him, “It’s the only fair punishment for such a heinous crime.” 

Simon recoils, grinning and grappling at the bed behind him in an attempt to get away, but Baz is already on him before he can put any real distance between them. 

“S-stop,” Simon laughs, writhing beneath him. “I’m sorry!” 

Baz doesn’t relent, straddling Simon’s thighs and digging at his stomach. He smirks down at Simon, pretending to think about it. “You know, it could be the laughing but… for some reason I don’t believe you.” He pokes particularly roughly between his ribs and Simon shrieks. 

“Get a room,” Niall chortles. 

“This  _ is _ my room,” Baz tells him, pinning Simon’s wrists to the bed above his head. His curls are spread out around him like a halo, and he’s practically  _ glowing _ red, out of breath as his giggles taper off. For a tense beat, Baz only looks down at him. He can’t fathom what kind of soft expression he’s wearing, but that’s neither here nor there, because Simon’s looking up at him almost adoringly. It’s almost the same as the look he wore at the wedding, before he…

Baz’s heart jumps into his throat. 

“You two are gross,” Dev huffs, “I’m leaving.” 

“Finally,” Niall agrees. 

Springing away from Simon, Baz glares at the two. “Good riddance.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, cousin dearest,” Dev grumbles, still heading for the door. “I’ve had enough of this fluff, you’re giving me fucking cavaties. My dentist is gonna be pissed.” 

Niall only nods in agreement, and then they’re both out the door. It swings shut behind them with a resounding  _ click _ , leaving Simon and Baz alone. 

Simon has scrambled up towards the pillows again, cowering into them, red-faced. Neither of them says anything, regarding one another. (A part of Baz is still stuck on the image of Simon buried in  _ his _ pillows, on  _ his _ bed, in  _ his _ room, blushing and flustered--)

“Er,” Simon stutters, eyes trained on Baz’s plush comforter, “Movie?” 

“Movie,” Baz agrees, and Simon dives for the remote, hitting play. Still sitting at the end of the bed, Baz watches Simon watch the movie intently, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. 

If it were Penelope of Agatha, he wouldn’t think twice about curling into their side or throwing his head across their lap. They were comfortable like that, the product of growing up together. But with Simon, something was stopping Baz from doing the same. The proximity, maybe, or just because they hadn’t done that yet, hadn’t crossed the bridge. 

But he’s sitting there, burrowed into his pillows and watching the movie so raptly, almost child-like. There’s ample space to his right where Baz could just slide in beside him, press against his side and breathe in that cinnamon scent, feel that warmth...

Before he knows it, he’s crawling across the bed, startling Simon. 

“Er-” He starts, and stops, as Baz slips into the space between his body and the wall. “Oh,” He says softly, cheeks tinging pink again. He squeaks adorably when Baz snakes an arm under him and around his waist. 

Baz grins. “Is this ok?” 

“Y-Yeah. Just peachy.” Resolutely, Simon turns back to the screen, swallowing. Baz watches the movement out of the corner of his eye, watches the light flickering over Simon’s face, highlighting every freckle and mole. 

“Would marrying me really be so bad?” He finds himself asking, a mere whisper. 

Simon blinks, turning his head to look at him. “What’d you say?” 

“Nothing,” Baz assures him, “Talking to myself.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments make my brain go brrr


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's short

**[Baz Pitch added Simon Snow to group: Losers]**

_ Simon Snow [6:04pm]: tf??? _

**Baz Pitch [6:04pm]: Davy actually is sick**

**Baz Pitch [6:04pm]: like really fucking sick**

**_Penelope Bunce [6:05pm]: shit, really? How do you know? Mom won’t tell me what’s going on but she seems stressed_ **

**_Penelope Bunce [6:05pm]: she sent me into a press conference this morning flying totally blind_ **

Agatha Wellbelove [6:05pm]: what’d malcolm say in the meeting baz

**Baz Pitch [6:05pm]: he had a heart attack two weeks ago**

Agatha Wellbelove [6:06pm]: wtf how are we only now hearing about this

_ Simon Snow [6:06pm]: davy is sick?  _

**_Penelope Bunce [6:06pm]: no one’s seen him in all this time and the public are getting antsy about it_ **

**Baz Pitch [6:06pm] Father said he’s hospitalized still, and getting weaker every day**

**Baz Pitch [6:06pm] they’re talking about who’s going to take over the throne**

Agatha Wellbelove [6:07pm]: oh shit

**Baz Pitch [6:07pm]:** **they’re saying Ruth Salisbury could act as a proxy for the time being, but she’s definitely not fit to rule**

Agatha Wellbelove [6:07pm]: yeah no shit 

**_Penelope Bunce [6:08pm]: what other options do they have_ **

**Baz Pitch [6:08pm]: no one said it at the meeting, but Father and Fiona kept exchanging weird looks**

**Baz Pitch [6:09pm]: and considering they were the only ones present who know about Simon, it’s not hard to guess what they were thinking**

Agatha Wellbelove [6:09pm]: fuck

**Baz Pitch [6:09pm]: Father hates Davy but he doesn’t want him to die. And he would never put Simon or his identity in jeopardy. I hope you know that, Snow.**

**_Penelope Bunce [6:09pm] yeah, Simon. We’re all here for you_ **

Agatha Wellbelove [6:10pm] 101%. Dev and niall too

_ Simon Snow [6:10pm]: thanks guys.  _

_ Simon Snow [6:10pm]: uh i gotta go _

**_Penelope Bunce [6:10pm] bye simon we love you_ **

_ Simon Snow _

_ [6:16pm] can you come over _

**[6:17pm] with agatha or without**

_ [6:17pm] are you even allowed to go anywhere without her _

**[6:17pm] technically no, but I’ll do it**

**[6:17pm] she’ll even cover for me**

_ [6:17pm] without _

**[6:18pm] be there in twenty**

\--------------------------

When Baz knocks, the doors swing open almost immediately-- Simon looks at him silently for a moment, bottom lip trembling and eyes glistening, hands balled into fists at his sides. That’s all it takes for Baz to be wrapping his arms around him, the door swinging shut behind them as Baz drags him to the couch. Gently, ever so gently, settles into the cushions, Simon curling into him automatically. He’s shaking, stuttered breaths fluttering against Baz’s collarbone. 

In the kitchen, Shepard is banging around and humming to himself, completely unaware of the situation a room over. Baz tightens his grip on Simon’s shoulders. 

“It’ll be alright, love,” He murmurs, rubbing a hand down Simon’s back, “It’ll be okay.” 

“No, it  _ won’t _ ,” Simon whimpers, hands balling into fists in Baz’s t-shirt. He’s halfway in his lap now, glaring up at him through lashes littered with glittering teardrops. “What happens if Davy d-dies? I don’t want him to die!” Burying his head in Baz’s neck, he lets out a fresh wave of sobs. 

Baz wants to tell him that’ll never happen, tell him he’ll recover and things will be alright, but he can’t. “How can I help?” He asks instead. He can hardly imagine what’s going on in Simon’s head right now. 

Helplessly, Simon shrugs. There’s a bang from the kitchen, then Shepard mumbling to himself. 

“What if,” Simon hiccups, pausing to take a deep breath, “What if he does die? Then what? Grandma Ruth can’t take over the throne. She’s  _ ancient _ , and she’s  _ sick _ .” Crumpling further into Baz’s chest, he laughs wetly, eyes fluttering closed. “This is so stupid.”

“Hey,” Baz says gently, “It’s not stupid.” 

“No, like… this whole situation. You know, like, I should  _ be _ there.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m supposed to take over the throne after Davy, but I  _ ran away _ .” He spits it, like it’s the most vile thing he’s ever tasted. 

Baz brings his hand to Simon’s head, carding a hand through his curls. Eyes still closed, Simon leans into the touch. “You got yourself out of a bad situation. That’s brave. It’s not something to be ashamed of,” Baz tells him, trying to sound as soothing as possible. Baz doesn’t really do emotions, and he doesn’t do comforting. 

“But I’m still supposed to be there,” Simon wails, pulling back to look at Baz, “What are they going to do? I’m supposed to be there,” He repeats. A stricken look crosses over his face. “What if I don’t even see Davy before he dies?” 

“That’s not gonna happen. I’ll make sure of it.” 

“Promise?” Simon asks, voice trembling. 

Baz doesn’t hesitate. “Promise.” He tugs Simon back into him, wrapping his arms snugly around his waist. “It’ll be alright, love,” He assures again, “It’ll be alright.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haikyuu is taking over my mind


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short.

_ Simon Snow _

**[8:07am] feeling any better?**

_ [8:16am] a little _

_ [8:16am] thanks for last night  _

**[8:17am] nothing to thank me for**

**[8:17am] anything i can do to help? If you want to talk, or get drunk, or anything**

_ [8:17am] it’s 8 am im not getting drunk _

_ [8:18am] but can i see you after im off work? _

**[8:18am] of course. time and place, and I’ll be there**

_ [8:19am] [Location Sent] 7:30? _

**[8:19am] perfect**

**[8:19am] agatha or no agatha**

_ [8:20am] ...no agatha _

**[8:21am] ok <3**

_ [8:21am] !!!!! _

_ [8:21am] <3 _

Wellbelove

**[8:22am] this isn’t a date, right? [Screenshot Attached]**

[8:22am] nah i dont think so

[8:22am] we gonna keep telling ppl you have a stomach bug?

**[8:23am] yes**

**[8:23am] ty agatha**

Wellbelove

**[10:54pm] yeah ok so maybe it WAS a date**

[10:54pm] what makes you say that?

**[10:55pm] he kissed me**

[10:55pm] OH

[10:55pm] i need DETAILS basil

**[10:56pm] then come get me**

**[10:56pm] it’s freezing out**

[10:56pm] i thought you were taking a cab home :/

**[10:57pm] don’t feel like it.**

[10:57pm] i hate you

**[10:57pm] uh huh**

**[10:57pm] [Location Sent]**

[10:58pm] see you in ten, fucker

\-----------------------

The next time Baz sees Simon, it’s not planned. They’d been texting sporadically the past few days, but between Simon’s busy work schedule and the panic at the castle, there wasn’t time to visit. At the end of every night, exhausted and stressed, Baz will collapse readily into his pillows, shoot Simon a goodnight text, and drift off almost instantly. (He dreams, most nights, not of his mother like he used to, but of freckles like galaxies and ocean eyes.)

Because the Salisbury kingdom technically falls under the greater Pitch kingdom, Malcolm is in charge of overseeing things there at the moment, while Davy is on his sickbed. Lady Ruth, though she may have once been a powerful queen before her daughter, has declined the throne, much to the public’s dismay. Fiona’s taken to a permanent stay at the Pitch palace, acting as Malcolm’s right-hand man. (Though he’d never admit it to either of them, Baz is secretly pleased to see them getting along for once.)

Even with his aunt’s help, though, Baz has still been thrust into a lot of new responsibilities. Things he’s been prepared to do his whole life, sure, but new and confusing nonetheless-- it feels as if he and Agatha are running around the castle day and night, listening to officials talk their ears off and throw documents at their feet. Agatha, of course, has been right by his side through all of it. 

Even with all of the distractions, it’s not enough to keep Baz from thinking about Simon. More specifically: thinking about the last time he saw him, the gentle press of those soft lips on his own, the warm palm on the back of his neck, the way Simon had looked at him, breathless, afterwards, before slipping into his apartment and all but disappearing. They hadn’t spoken about it, either, in texts or the few phone calls Baz has been able to sneak in. 

So it’s a surprise when Simon shows up at his door--his bedroom door-- at eight pm, looking stricken. Scrambling out from under the covers, Baz looks at him warily. 

“What’s wr-”

“Davy’s dead.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao my hand slipped. 
> 
> the last two chapters are on the shorter side but longer than this lmfao


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i tried to drop as many easter eggs into this chapter and like the whole thing as possible can u even see them
> 
> also, again, this is short-ish, and the next one is also short-ish. and probably anti-climactic, but i was hoping to do a cliff-hanger for the ending bc mayhaps a sequel

It’s almost three weeks before Simon will come out. He’s been hiding out in Baz’s room for ages, curled into a ball, barely eating, only showering when Agatha can bribe him to. (Sour cherry scones are, apparently, Simon Snow’s weakness.) When Baz is around--that is, not flitting between meetings and paperwork-- Simon attaches himself to his side, burying his face in his neck. At night, he sleeps first on a mattress at the foot of Baz’s bed, until, like clockwork, he has a nightmare and winds up pressed into Baz’s side once again. Penelope and Agatha take turns staying with him when Baz is busy, though he doesn’t talk much. Every few days, Shepard will come by with clothes and coffee, though he scampers out of the palace as soon as possible. 

It’s three weeks to get him to come out of Baz’s room, and four weeks before he laughs. 

It’s five weeks until he asks Baz to gather everyone. Everyone meaning, according to Simon, both doctors Bunce, Fiona and Malcolm, and of course, Agatha and Penny. They sit in a meeting room around a wide mahogany table and wait for Simon to speak. He’s nervous, twisting his hair between shaking fingers and chewing his lip nervously. Beneath the table, Baz takes his hand. 

“Right- so,” Simon starts, voice shaking, “I- first, thanks for, you know, everything. This past month…” He swallows, dragging his free hand through his hair. “It’s been hard, but you all… helped me a lot. More than you can know.” Smiling, he glances at Baz out of the corner of his eye, squeezing his hand. Baz’s heart stutters in his chest. 

“Oh, Simon,” Penny says easily, grinning broadly, “There’s nothing to thank us for.” 

“Yeah, loser,” Agatha agrees, kicking her feet up onto the table and throwing her hands behind her head, “You’re family.” 

The doctors Bunce both nod eagerly, Mitali smiling fondly. It seems to encourage Simon, who takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. 

“So, Penny and Baz haven’t told me much about what’s going on in the, er, Salisbury kingdom,” He says it carefully, cringing at the name. 

Flipping her sunglasses-- she’d insisted in wearing them inside, to Malcolm’s dismay-- up onto her head, Fiona snorts. “It’s in shambles, boyo.”

Shooting her some mighty side-eye, Malcolm cuts in, “We’re doing our best, but it’s a lot to handle so suddenly. Lady Ruth is cooperating as much as she can, but there isn’t much she can do. We’re overwhelmed.” There’s respect in his voice as he speaks of the former Queen; Baz knows how much his father admires her and her reforms. 

“I appreciate that,” Simon says slowly, chewing his lip thoughtfully, “Has it been decided who’s going to, er, take over?” 

Martin Bunce raises his eyebrows. “‘Take over’? So violent.” 

“No, not like… that. I mean, rule. Be in charge. Benevolently.” 

Fiona smirks knowingly, “You saying what I think you’re saying, kid?” 

Scrunching his nose adorably, Simon deflates. “I’m not saying anything, just asking.”

“Simon,” Malcolm says carefully, eyebrows drawn, “Can I ask you something personal?” 

Silently, Simon nods. His eyes are trained on the table before him, one hand picking at the grain, the other still woven through Baz’s. 

“Is your mother dead?” Malcolm hazards, voice gentle. 

“Father!” Baz cuts in for the first time. Fiona’s grinning, seemingly enjoying the show. 

“No, it’s okay,” Simon assures him, squeezing his hand. He turns to the King, taking a steadying breath. “I have no idea. She disappeared while I was still in diapers.” 

“Do you remember her at all?” 

He looks away again. “Only her silly nickname for me. Nothing else.” 

“And your father?” Fiona prods, intrigued, setting her elbows on the table and her chin in ringed hands. There’s a heavy silver ring on her left thumb that belonged once to Baz’s mother, and another on her pinky-- Natasha’s old wedding ring. 

Simon inhales sharply. Baz doesn’t think he’d ever heard Simon or anyone else call Mage his father; Simon only ever referred to as simply ‘Davy’.   
“What  _ about _ him?” 

Taking the hint for once, Fiona backs down, leaning back in her seat and shrugging. 

“Simon,” Mitali says softly, pushing her glasses up her nose in that way that seems to run in the Bunce family, “Do you know anything that might help us look for her?” 

Simon shakes his head solemnly. “I honestly don’t think she’s… out there.” 

The table is silent for a moment, his words sinking in. Basil knows that his father was betting on locating the fallen Queen. He looks halfway to devastated, running his fingers along his graying beard. His hair is more salt than pepper now, his eyes underlined with heavy bags. The Bunces don’t look much better off. 

“Alright, then what do we do?” Agatha asks eventually, setting her jaw the way she always does when she’s thinking. Penelope nods beside her, toying absently with the shiny purple ring she always wears. (Baz thinks she once mentioned that it was a family heirloom, rumored to be magickal. He doesn’t buy it, but she puts a lot of faith in that thing. Says it’s good luck.)

Glancing at Simon out of the corner of his eye, Baz clears his throat. “Does the Salisbury kingdom have any kind of election system?” 

Malcolm winces. “No, unfortunately not. And it’d take a while to set one up.” His eyes slide to Simon, who’s chewing him lip thoughtfully. “But it’s an option.” 

Mitali Bunce nods. “If that’s the best course of action, we should get started right away.” There’s a crease between her eyebrows. Vaguely, Baz recalls she and Queen Salisbury were close-- she must have been holding out hope that Lucy would return in their hour of need. 

The Bunces three stand to leave, while Fiona closes her eyes and sighs, almost disappointed. 

“Wait,” Simon mumbles, and then, louder, “Wait!” 

Penny stops in the doorway, her parents peering in over her head. Mitali is only a few centimeters taller than her daughter, leaning her head on her shoulder. Fiona pops one eye open. 

“I… I haven’t been there in a long, long time, but I…” Simon chokes, frustrated gaze dancing between Malcolm and the others, “I could…” 

Startling everyone, Fiona bolts up in her seat, grinning devilishly. “Claim your rightful place on the throne, dragging the Salisbury Kingdom back from the edge and returning it to the glory it once was under your mother’s reign?” Her eyes are sparkling, cheeks red-- Baz has never seen her so excited. 

Agatha snorts, raising her eyebrows. 

“Er… something like that.” Scratching at the back of his neck, Simon turns his head towards Baz, meeting his eyes. “I can’t do it alone, though.” 

Baz can’t help but smirk back, scoffing, “Of course not.” Simon’s expression softens, lips quirked into a small smile. 

Clearing his throat, the King nods. “It’s settled then. Simon, Fiona, I’ll be expecting you both at dinner tonight so we can discuss things further.” 

“Course,” Fiona agrees easily, still smiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao ok so the final chapter is tomorrow, and i'm considering a sequel? idk i have a few more ideas for this floating around in my head. let me know in the comments if u'd like that idk
> 
> also yes i decided fiona is lowkey a Mage's Heir stan what of it


	17. Chapter 17

“That was so fucking scary, are all meetings like that? Davy never let me into any when I was living with him.” Simon tumbles backwards onto Baz’s bed. In the weeks he’d been staying at the castle, Simon had made himself right at home in Baz’s room (in Baz’s  _ bed _ ). (Not that the prince minded. Not in the slightest.)

Baz flops down beside him, accidentally smacking his stomach with one arm and eliciting a small “uft!” Turning his head to face the other boy, Basil grins, quirking an eyebrow at him. “They don’t all go so well. Sometimes my dad loses his temper, and sometimes Fiona gets piss-drunk and ruins them. Those are my favorites.”

Simon grins back. “You think it went well?” 

“I think it went wonderfully.” 

“Cool, cause I have a favor to ask you.” 

Shifting so his body is facing Simon entirely, Baz lets his expression soften. “Anything.” 

Simon follows suit, rolling all the way onto his side, suddenly nervous. “Baz,” He breathes, then stops, smiling the slightest bit. “Basil,” He corrects himself-- Baz’s heart stutters in his chest, “I… If I’m going to be… king, well. I can’t do it by myself, can I?” 

Confused, Baz slips his arm up under his head and props his chin on his palm. “No, I suppose not. But you know I’ll be right there to help you, no matter what.” 

“Yes, er…” Simon huffs, face flushed. He blinks, then averts his eyes, still laying on his back, Baz looming over him. From this angle, in the fading light streaming through the blinds, Baz can hardly make out the freckles he knows are dotted along his cheeks, now coated in crimson. There’s an eyelash stuck on the side of Snow’s nose and Baz’s fingers tingle with the urge to wipe it away. “I guess I should have a… partner in crime, so to speak.” 

_ Oh. _ Baz’s heart falls-- a bride. A  _ queen _ .

“A wife,” he says aloud, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He thinks about the wedding, about Simon kissing him in front of all those reporters, about Simon sputtering at Niall even  _ suggesting _ they get married. He thinks about the way Simon’s fingers felt entangled in his own, about his even breaths against his neck. All about to be ripped away from him. 

“No,” Simon says urgently, sitting up some so he’s level with Baz. He sounds frustrated, brows drawn. “I mean, uh…” 

“Spit it out, Snow.” 

“Like- well. You said you’d help me, right?” 

“Of course.”  _ Where is he going with this? _ Baz thinks sullenly,  _ Just get it over with. _

Groaning and falling backwards into the mattress again, Simon tugs nervously at a loose curl. “Why is this difficult?” He mumbles, closing his eyes. 

Baz says nothing, watching the other boy work himself up, drinking him in. If he really was going to lose him, he wanted to remember him forever like this-- in the waning light, honey skin and bronze curls casting a glowing, golden haze on his bedsheets. The freckle under his left eye, the fleck of amber in his right. The way one of his front teeth was slightly crooked, the way his cheeks creased when he smiled, the way his chin set when he’s thinking. The square of his jaw. The moles sprinkled across his cheekbones-- the scrunch of his nose when he’s upset. 

“Will you marry me?” 

For a moment, Baz thinks he’s said it, thinks it’s tumbled out of him unbidden. Except it’s not all that unbidden, is it? He can’t say he hasn’t been thinking it. 

But it’s not him-- it’s Simon, looking up at him through his lashes and all but yanking his hair out his head in his anxiety. Falling apart at the seams-- as if Baz would ever say  _ no _ . 

The pinched, weighty feeling in Baz’s gut subsides, leaving a sugared softness in its wake. Like he’s spent a night chugging wine with Wellbelove, or watched the sunrise with Bunce on the roof. Weightless, breathless, limitless. He grins. 

“Of fucking course, idiot.” He sighs, and watches the tension melt from Simon’s face. A relieved smile lights up his face. 

“Oh, thank god. I thought you were gonna kick me to the curb.” 

Baz laughs, a full-bodied, easy thing. “The fuck would I do that for?” 

Still smiling, Simon shrugs, leaning up onto his elbows again. They’re so close like this, noses almost brushing. The last of the daylight spills across the room, leaving Simon awash in it, glowing as he leans forward. His forehead rests against Baz’s. 

“Thank you,” He breathes, his words dusting against Baz’s lips. He shivers. 

Bringing a hand up to carefully rest against Simon’s neck, Baz laughs again. “Nothing to thank me for.” 

That’s all it takes for Simon to be diving forward, slotting his lips against Baz’s. They tumble back, landing against the pillows, Simon’s hands slipping into Baz’s hair and cupping his cheek, tilting his head slightly. He knows what he’s doing-- Baz lets him lead, coaxing his mouth open and slipping his tongue into the seam of his mouth. It’s slow, and it’s tender, and Baz feels like he could melt right into the sheets, here in Simon’s strong arms. He drags his hand down Snow’s back, slipping it under the hem of his t-shirt and resting it there, against warm skin. 

Simon pulls back, squirming. “Your fingers are so fucking cold, dude,” He whines. 

“Don’t call me dude when you’re snogging the living daylights out of me.” 

Simon raises his eyebrows. (He can’t do just the one. Baz, of course, revels in teasing him endlessly over it.) “Is that what’s happening here?”

Baz rolls his eyes, nudging his nose into the crook of Simon’s neck and humming. 

“Best kiss of your life,” Simon continues smugly, “Would you agree?”

Pinching the small of his back and getting a small “ow” in return, Baz smiles against Simon’s skin. “I’d definitely say so, but you don’t have to brag about it, you prat.” 

“Don’t call me a prat when I’m snogging the living daylights out of you,” Simon parrots back at him. 

“You aren’t quite doing that now, are you? Better get on that.” 

Giggling, Simon takes his lips with his again, pressing his smile into Baz. “I’m gonna marry the fuck out of you,” He announces softly, breath huffing pleasantly against Baz’s mouth.

“That a threat?” 

Tightening his grip on Baz, Simon pulls back, meeting his eyes. “It’s a promise.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao the end feels so anti-climactic and lame and dry...
> 
> idk strongly considering a sequel, so keep an eye out for that!!

**Author's Note:**

> might fuck around and add a sequel bc i have a scene i wrote and couldn't fit in here lmao 
> 
> join the [server!](https://discord.gg/rvSyScp) it's super fun and everyone there is cool :)  
> or find me on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/snowbaz_twitter_au/)  
> or [tumblr](angryjane.tumblr.com)
> 
> and remember! the poor can't go hungry if they're eating the rich


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